The Ruby Slippers
by Gem4
Summary: Buffy and Angel must pay the price when the A.I. team tries to restore Angel's humanity. Set in Season 5/2.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Nope, Angel's not mine (and you have no idea how sorry I am to say that g). He belongs to Joss Whedon, who delights in torturing him. Spoilers: Reunion (Ats)/Checkpoint(BtVS) Rating: I'm guessing PG Author's Note: ANGST WARNING! It was originally intended to be a stand- alone, but now has become the prologue to another story called "The Ruby Slippers." My special thanks for help with both stories goes to my new, and extremely helpful, beta-reader, Caroline. Sepia tone, btw, refers to a type of film that is colored brown and white. It was occasionally used in old movies, such as for the Kansas parts of "The Wizard of Oz."  
  
The Ruby Slippers  
  
Prologue:  
  
Lost in the Sepia Tones  
  
By Gem  
  
  
  
"I wish they would leave."  
  
Angel paused, cocking his head to the side as he reached out for heartbeats and the scent of humans. He sighed; it was no good, they were still here. He picked up his abandoned pen and resumed writing.  
  
"I left them hours ago." Honesty compelled him to check his watch. "Okay, so an hour ago, but you would think that would be enough time. When I walked out of the office, I honestly expected them to get up and leave too. I wouldn't have been all that surprised if one of them followed me and tried to "reason" with me, but they didn't even do that. They're just sitting there, in my office, probably with the same two-by-four to the head looks they were wearing an hour ago. You would think in this age of corporate downsizing the word "fired" wouldn't require a wall chart."  
  
He absently reached for his glass of blood and took a sip. No cinnamon flavoring this time, or ever again. Maybe there was an upside to all this.  
  
"You would understand; I know you would. You also would probably have taken that metaphorical two-by-four and wailed on me with it, but deep down you would have understood."  
  
He laughed slightly, a harsh unhappy disturbance in the quiet room.  
  
"Or maybe I'm kidding myself. Maybe even you wouldn't see the logic this time. You never did like it when I went for the grand heroic gesture. But it's not heroism that moves me, love; you need to know that. It's sheer terror, raised by the absolute certainty that any other plan could lead to the end of lives far more precious to me than my own. And maybe when they find this journal and give it to you, it will help you see why I did what I did. Then you can make them see it too."  
  
"I tried so hard to be the good guy; the knight in leather armor. But the more I try, the worse I make things. It's not exactly new for me; I've pretty much always had the gift. But I will find a way to fix things this time, I promise you that, sweetheart. If it's the last thing I do, I will get it right just this once."  
  
The leather chair creaked as he shifted his weight, trying to settle in more comfortably. Comfort, now there was an unfamiliar word. When was the last time comfort entered into his thinking? It could only have been with her.  
  
"The thing is, there's no way I can see to come out of this in one piece, but I'm okay with that. Really I am. Darla and Dru are my responsibility, my fault, and I will make things right. But I know I won't be coming out the other side."  
  
"The only way to kill them is to fight face to face, on their own level, and even if the body survives, the soul will not. Today proved that to me. When you fight a demon with a demon, in the end all the demons must be destroyed."  
  
A breath of wind sighed through a crack in the window molding, lifting the hairs on the back of Angel's neck as it skimmed across his skin. He shivered at the sensation, and then smiled grimly when a childhood superstition automatically sprang to mind.  
  
Someone must have been walking on his grave.  
  
"I don't know; maybe you'll resent me for this, even if you do realize the whys behind it. I'm certainly getting off easier than you in the sacrifice game. Once upon a time I thought I was brought back to save humanity, save the world even, and I would gladly have given up my life for that. But that was never my destiny; it was yours, is yours. That's why I got it confused.  
  
"Our souls were so close, so interconnected that I found it almost impossible to see where I ended and you began. Now I know how to tell us apart. You're the Slayer; you were born to save the world every time some idiot demon tries to take it out. You were born to make the big sacrifices; to offer up one soul to save all the rest from darkness."  
  
"I don't envy you that responsibility."  
  
"As for me, I'm just a vampire with a soul who's been given more chances to do the right thing than the Powers should allow. I know what that right thing is now, and I'm going to do it. I hope God has some mercy on anyone who gets in my way, because I'm sure not going to waste any time over it."  
  
The smile on Angel's face was colder than the blood that drifted sluggishly through his veins. He could feel the demon stirring within him, demanding more chaos, more pain and grief to feed it. His human soul trembled in fear of the meal soon to be at hand.  
  
"You, Cordelia, Wesley, Gunn - you're the special ones. You are the souls I need to guard, not the faceless masses. And I'm the lucky one; I can protect those I love, and I don't have to worry about choosing between them and the world. I have the luxury of putting you first, and I don't think I realized until today how great a gift that is. I didn't have to save those lawyers; they summoned the darkness that devoured them, and they would only have brought more if I had saved them. It wasn't a matter of deciding who deserved to live and die, it was about who needed to live and die. In order for those I love to be safe, they had to die. And so they did. You wouldn't have been able to abandon them to Dru and Darla, but I was."  
  
A sudden burst of flame split the log on the fire in two, sending half of it to the grate with a thud. Angel started at the noise, but he was grateful for the wake-up call from his uncomfortably pleasant memories of the afternoon.  
  
"Hopefully Cordy and Wes will be too angry about being fired to worry over me, and Gunn won't try to rescue me from myself unless they're in on it too. They should be safe now. I got them out of harm's way, and as long as Dru and Darla think you and I are on the outs, you're off radar too. I only wish I could be there by your side at the End of Days; I thought that was my destiny. But at least now you'll live to fight another day, and maybe that was all I was really supposed to ensure. I know it's all that really matters to me."  
  
Another sip of blood. It was getting cold, but he was beyond such paltry details. He was lost in a one-way conversation he'd been conducting for eighteen lonely months. It was almost at an end, and he still had so much to tell her. So much to say, and never enough time; it was always their downfall.  
  
"I know they will tell you about the prophecy; it will fall under the category of 'if onlies' that must be acknowledged in order to move on. Please don't have any regrets about it on my behalf. My chance for redemption is over now, but I gave it up freely. A part of me is screaming for all the things I thought we might have when, if, I regained my humanity. But the better part of me knows this is the right choice. I told you; I'm lucky. You had to sacrifice me to save the world. I get to sacrifice me to save you and the others. It really is the easier path."  
  
His pen faltered slightly, as though giving lie to the next words.  
  
"I never thought I would say this, but I'm glad you're not here. I don't want you to have to see what comes next, and I wouldn't want you here for the end. The look in Cordelia's eyes today, in Wesley's, that was bad enough. I couldn't bear to see you look at me that way too, the way you did after we trapped Faith so long ago. That mixture of disappointment and fear, and most of all the realization that I'm not quite human; it tears at me to see that in the eyes of the people whose respect I value most. I don't want to put either of us through that again."  
  
He paused, rubbing his hand over his weary eyes.  
  
"I was raised to believe that you must do penance to atone for your sins, and I've spent a lot of time the past year or so trying to do just that. I don't regret that time, any of it. Only you have brought me closer to finding peace in this life of mine. But now I believe my true penance must be to never finish making my atonement. I guess peace and I were never meant to be old friends."  
  
Angel's hand stopped moving, the pen falling to the floor. He was so tired of fighting; he'd been fighting demons within and without for hundreds of years now, and he was sick to the bone of it all. He wanted peace, just a small space of peace within his human soul, but even that much was to be denied him. There was one last battle to wage, to win at all costs, and he must fight it alone. Alone, in the name of all those who made him feel he was never truly alone.  
  
  
  
The End 


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story contains references to "The Wizard of Oz," by Frank L. Baumm, but it does not contain any actual characters or excerpts from either the book or movie. The characters who are in the story, and the town of Sunnydale, are the creation of Joss Whedon, and are being used for amusement only, not profit.  
  
Spoilers: Checkpoint(BtVS)/Reunion(Ats)  
  
Rating PG13 I guess  
  
Author's Note: Severe ANGST WARNING! Blame this on my best friend, who delights in torturing her characters even more than Joss does his (I know, hard to believe, but true). I simply mentioned a theory about Angel regaining his humanity and she turned it into a Greek tragedy. Therefore, since it was her idea (even if I am the one doing the writing), she's going to take the rap with me g In terms of credit, I'd like to thank my beta- reader, Caroline, for both her help and her patience with me.  
  
The Ruby Slippers Part 1  
  
By Gem  
  
&  
  
PJ  
  
  
  
He would always remember the screaming.  
  
To the human ear it was imperceptible. The walls were wooden, but they were thick, the door was made of heavy steel, and the roar of the fire covered even the screech of approaching sirens. To hear anything, let alone process the sound and realize its source was more than any mortal could accomplish.  
  
But he could still hear the screaming.  
  
He tried to reach them, tried to drag his broken body close enough to open the door, but it was no use. Force of will was no match for the injuries his enemies had inflicted upon him, and every moment the fire was creeping closer to him. And yet he could not abandon them. Inch by excruciating inch he slid closer to the door, until he felt hands on his body, drawing him up and away from the heat and the flames.  
  
But they couldn't take away the screaming. That he would never escape.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"No, I won't have anything to do with this. Absolutely not."  
  
Wesley tried to control the tremble in his voice, brought on by exhaustion and anger. The wall he was leaning against was a poor substitute for his bed, but he knew there would be no true rest for any of them for some time to come. They were alive; that was the best that could be said, and now Cordelia wanted to ruin even that small victory.  
  
Cordelia put a hand to her lips, waiting until she was assured of his silence before she opened the bedroom door and peered in. A single lamp shone dimly from the nightstand, casting just enough light for her to observe the room's occupant.  
  
Angel lay unmoving on the bed, the numerous bandages standing out in stark relief against the red of his burned flesh. His face was the color of paper, but his dark, haunted eyes were finally closed, his brow smooth and momentarily untroubled. Cordelia listened intently for any sounds of distress, but after hours of restless drugged slumber, he was silent at last.  
  
Satisfied all was quiet, if not well, she closed the door softly behind her and motioned Wesley towards the stairs. As they descended to the lobby, she repeated her plea.  
  
"Wesley, please, please, please; you have to help me. And we have to help Angel."  
  
Cordelia was clinging to his arm in a way that would have delighted Wesley just a few short years ago. Now, after all they had been through together, his initial anger was tempered by a deep pity instead. They were both in pain tonight, and reacting to it as their own natures dictated. He was trying to keep a stiff upper lip and muddle on through, while Cordelia was prepared to storm the gates of Heaven itself to make the world over to suit her.  
  
Wesley patted her hand gently before he detached it from his arm. "I'm sorry, my dear. I know this is hard to bear, but we have no choice. Eventually he will recover, at least in body. All we can do right now, though, is wait."  
  
Cordelia spun away from him in disgust. "In body he'll recover, that's right; but what about his soul? After all he's done, you just know those horrible old PTBs aren't going to shansu him any time soon, if ever. He'll being doing time in the vamp penalty box for eons." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, for once regretting the loss of her former, more expressive, length. "It's not fair."  
  
"I agree; it's not fair. But it's not for us to decide who may be redeemed and when. Angel knew what he was risking and he made his choice." He looked pointedly at the leather-bound book in her hand. She had clung to it for hours. "You read his journals; you know he wanted to do things his way."  
  
"Yeah, to protect us," she replied bitterly. "I wish I had never found those stupid journals at all. Or if I had to, why couldn't it have been in time to stop him?" She threw the journal against the wall in frustration. "We should have seen what he was doing, but no. We were too busy feeling all human and superior. So he let Darla and Dru bite in bulk; it was just a bunch of lawyers. He was probably doing humanity a favor."  
  
"It wasn't just what he did to the people at Wolfram and Hart," he reminded her as he went to retrieve the book. "He deliberately let the demon within him have a freer reign so that he might trap his enemies, but the reasons do not change the outcome. People died because he stayed his hand. Do you truly feel he had the right to decide whose life was worth more?"  
  
"As one of the ones who came out still breathing, maybe I'm a little partial." She glared at him, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. "All I know is he was doing it for us, and now he's lost his last chance to have the life he wanted. And big reminder, Wes; he's going to be looking down that road not taken for centuries after you and I are plant food."  
  
"And you think it would be better to kill him?"  
  
"You weren't listening to me. Jeeze, pay attention for once." She began pacing, trying to map out strategy. "We have to stake him; I admit that's the downside. But we have the scroll of Abracadabra and if even that creepy Lindsey can do the spell, we should be golden. We're the good guys." Her pause was an invitation for enthusiastic assent.  
  
"It's Aberjian, and you are talking about using it to invoke ancient, potentially evil powers. We have no way of knowing what price may be asked."  
  
"Oh please, stop being so Stephen King," Cordelia scoffed. She should have known better than to expect anything but doom and dire from Wesley. "I admit, the lawyers who tried this all became B-neg Slurpees, but that doesn't mean it had anything to do with the ceremony. Other than they raised a really nasty demon who came back to bite them on the...throat. I mean we'd be raising Angel, our friend, Angel. Where's the King Tut's tomb in that?"  
  
"But what about Darla? Becoming human was her death warrant."  
  
"Newsflash: that's what the word 'mortal' means. You want to live forever, you have to find a way to work the 'im' part in, like becoming a vamp." Cordelia shrugged impatiently. "Besides, Darla got sick because she was already dying when she, umm, died. But Angel was at the top of his game when he went." She paused for a moment. "Okay, so he was a lecherous alcoholic bum, but he was in great shape physically."  
  
Wesley could feel his resolve weakening by the word, but he fought against it. It sounded too good to be true; there must be a catch. To give Angel back the humanity he craved, in repayment for that which he sacrificed in their names; it was more than Wesley thought he would ever be able to do for the man who had become his best friend. But if his brief tenure on the hellmouth had taught him anything, it was that if something seemed too good to be true...it usually killed you in your sleep.  
  
"Do you really think we can do this?" he finally asked, hope triumphing over native caution.  
  
Cordelia smiled in relief; she knew she could win him over. She draped her arm lightly around Wesley's shoulders as she led him toward Angel's library. "We have the scroll, we can find the sacrificial vamps, and you know as well as I do that Angel has chains by the yard around here to restrain them. All we need to find is a big box. Honestly, I don't know why we didn't think of this months ago."  
  
* * * * *  
  
A box they could find, but the courage necessary to fill it was harder to summon.  
  
"You want me to do it? Why me?" Gunn tried to control the crack in his voice, but shock was fast outweighing male ego. The plan seemed crazy enough when he thought he would just be a spectator, but he had no idea how he was supposed to react when he was cast as the Grim Reaper.  
  
"You're strong," Cordelia pointed out quickly. "Angel's injured, but he's still a lot stronger than I am. And you just know Wesley's aim would be bad just when we need it to be good, so he'd end up poking a bunch more holes in Angel before he hit the bulls-eye and we don't want..."  
  
"Angel to suffer," Wesley finished for her. "I could do it, at least in theory. I have staked vampires before, you know. But to stake Angel? Not even Angelus, but Angel...I can't bring myself to do it. Even knowing it is a necessary step on the path to a greater good, I still don't think I could strike the fatal blow."  
  
"You're the only one." Cordelia stared beseechingly at him. "I know you and Angel are friends, but he's our family. And in my book you don't drive a stake through a family member's heart unless they're trying to rip your throat out at the time."  
  
"Even then...it's a judgment call," Wesley admitted.  
  
"And what, you figure since I staked Alanna I can do Angel as well? I guess a guy who could dust his little sister can do just about anyone, right?"  
  
Cordelia heard the bitterness in his voice and instantly regretted her less- than tactful plea. She wanted to heal Angel, but wounding Gunn was not part of the plan. "That's not it; really it's not. It's just that you're less involved than we are this time, but you're enough involved to want to help." She leaned over to peer into his eyes. "You do want to help, don't you?"  
  
Gunn thought very carefully about his reply. Angel had been good to him; offering assistance without being asked, yet never intruding on his personal life; never taking for granted the help he asked in return. But Gunn could never forget that Angel was a vampire. Every time he almost did, Angel found his own little way to remind him. Things like blood- drenched fangs and empty yellow eyes stuck in a guy's memory for a long time, no matter how friendly the owner was.  
  
Still, when all the cards were counted, Gunn ranked Angel among the good guys. With a soul-deep sigh, he joined the stake-happy fan club.  
  
"When do we do it?"  
  
Cordelia beamed at him. "How soon can you round up five vamps in less than ten pieces?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I must be counting wrong; it doesn't make sense he should only have two sets of handcuffs."  
  
"His and hers?" Cordelia suggested.  
  
Wesley shot her a disgusted look as he resumed his inventory. "Manacles, brass knuckles, manacles, thumbscrews, mana...no, wait, those aren't...well, they're not what I thought they were." Wesley slammed the lid of Angel's wooden chest closed, almost catching Cordelia's curious nose in it.  
  
She grinned at the blush on his face, but decided not to inquire too deeply into its source. She had a feeling it would be easier to face Angel when all this was over if she didn't know too much about his private life.  
  
"So, we have two sets of cuffs for the five vamps Gunn and the Lost Boys are out rounding up. Not a good ratio," she mused. "Well, there must be an all-night bondage shop somewhere in the neighborhood. This is West Hollywood."  
  
"We don't have to get everything tonight, Cordelia. There will be time after...well, Darla's ashes rested for years before they were regenerated."  
  
"No, we're going to do this all tonight, or we're not doing any of it," she said firmly. "I'm not going to have him lying around like a pile of dirt on the comforter while we go shopping. I mean this place is drafty. One good gust of wind and we might lose one of Buffy's very favorite parts of Angel, and I am so not going to be the one to tell her it's gone because someone was too lazy to buy handcuffs at one a.m." She rested her hands on her hips as she glared at the hapless Wesley.  
  
"I really don't think..."  
  
"Say, I've got it," Cordelia interrupted him. "We need a Dustbuster, a clean one of course. That way we won't lose any of him. Do you think we can leave him in it when we put him in the box, or would that hurt him when he pops back up to full size?"  
  
"Cordelia..."  
  
"And hey, I've got another great idea," she continued, apparently oblivious to his repeated attempts at speech. "When this is all done, we can write a book about it, you know, a fantasy one because no one who doesn't do the demon tango at least twice a week would ever believe this was real."  
  
"But..."  
  
"We can call it 'Angel's Ashes,' to cash in on the almost-name recognition." She smiled triumphantly. "And when they make it a movie, I can play myself. It will be perfect. Of course I don't know if Angel will still be young enough to play himself at that point, since he's going to start aging any minute now. And even if he could play himself, he's going to need a stunt double. Actually, do you think one will be enough? In human terms, he's kind of high maintenance."  
  
"I think you're being rather flip about this whole situation," Wesley said severely, when Cordelia at last bowed to nature and took a breath. "This is not a joke."  
  
She stared at him, unable to believe his utter lack of understanding. "Do you see me laughing?" Cordelia demanded. "This is called the power of positive thinking, pal. Pardon me for trying to find the upside to killing my boss, who also happens to be one of the few real friends I have." She stuck out her tongue at him, daring him to criticize her further.  
  
Wesley watched her silently for a moment, seeing the frightened woman beneath the childish gesture. He carefully placed the handcuffs on top of the trunk and reached out to take her hand.  
  
"You don't think this will work, do you?" he asked softly.  
  
Her glare nearly singed his eyebrows as she snatched her hand from his grasp. "It will work," she spat. "It has to." She closed her eyes for an instant; when she opened them tears had dimmed their fiery glow. "Wesley, if we kill him and then we can't...I couldn't stand it if we hurt him for nothing."  
  
Wesley sighed heavily as he ran his fingers over the handcuffs. "And yet, how much worse can we hurt him than fate already has?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Angel drifted just below the edge of consciousness, on the farthest reaches of the pain. The screams were still echoing in the corner of his mind, but they were muted by the drugs, blending in with the thousand others he carried with him as a legacy of the demon within. The resultant discord was a familiar companion.  
  
He had survived; somehow he had survived and his enemies did not. It was not the outcome he was expecting, or really even wanted, but here it was in all its tattered glory. Life was for the living, and for the undead unlucky enough to survive their own stupidity.  
  
No, not stupidity. He mentally shook his head, since he could not summon the strength to do it for real. He saved them, and though he would carry the guilt of his actions for the rest of his days, he could not regret it for himself. The people he cherished would live long lives now that Darla and Dru were dead; better lives, now that they were removed from his own. Hadn't She thrived once he set her free?  
  
Thinking of Buffy guided him down a once-familiar path, too long denied him. Darla had poisoned his dreams of his beloved for so many months, but she was gone now and Buffy lived. She was waiting for him on the hill beyond the mansion, and she was holding out her hand. He hurried to join her, not wanting to waste a single minute more. For this brief moment in time, he could linger with the keeper of his heart in the land of lost hopes. It was little enough to ask.  
  
"Angel."  
  
He heard the voice coming at him from a great distance, too great to interest him. She was here, with him; he had no need of anyone or anything else.  
  
"Angel man, I'm really sorry.  
  
The voice pulled at him, drawing him away from his beloved. He fought to stay by Buffy's side, but more voices joined the first, all tugging at him. She had first claim on his heart and his soul, yet they had their pieces as well, and now they asserted their rights.  
  
"We're doing this for you, Angel. Please believe it."  
  
The voice was different this time, a cultured accent smoothing over the harsh struggle against unmanly tears. He wanted to open his eyes to see who it was...but the sunlight was gleaming on her golden hair and he was awash in the splendor of it. He couldn't tear his gaze away.  
  
"It will be okay, I promise. We're going to fix everything. Trust us, Angel. I know it looks bad but..." The female voice gave way to a sob. "Wesley, please tell me we're right."  
  
"Just do it. For God's sake, Gunn, just do it!"  
  
Buffy smiled at him, so sweetly it broke his heart. He reached out to her, pushing past all the voices as he tried to catch her hand, her arm. She was slipping away again, turning away from him because of what he had done. Even in this land of make-believe, she knew him for the demon he was and she was compelled to forsake him because of it.  
  
"We'll see you on the far side, man."  
  
He wanted to call out to her, but he couldn't yell over the wind. It chased through his veins as his blood had once done, and spilled out over the hilltop in great waves as the body that imprisoned his soul gave way at last.  
  
Her name roared through his brain in that last instant, carried to the outside world in a sudden whisper of wind.  
  
"Buffy."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Angel!"  
  
Buffy sat bolt upright in her bed, smashing the lamp on her nightstand with her flailing arms as she reached out for him. He was there, somewhere, just beyond her reach; she could feel him. She looked wildly around the unlit room, trying to see a darker shape of dark hidden in the corners, but there was nothing.  
  
"Buffy!" Joyce hurried into the room, flicking on the wall switch as she entered. "Honey, are you okay? I heard you cry out." She sat down on the bed beside her daughter and gently stroked her arm. "What's wrong?"  
  
Buffy forced herself to breathe calmly; she would not upset her mother, so recently and miraculously restored to them.  
  
"I'm fine, Mom. Just a bad dream, nothing new and unusual in the world of slayage." She patted her mother's hand as it rested on her arm. "Go back to bed." She looked up at Dawn, leaning in the doorway and stifling a yawn. "You too; back to bed."  
  
"Honey, was it about Riley? I know you're taking this break-up hard, so if you need to talk, remember that I'm here. Don't keep things bottled up so they attack you when you're sleeping." She cupped Buffy's cheek in her hand, gazing deeply into her daughter's sad eyes.  
  
Dawn rolled her eyes at her mother's familiar state of denial; the name Buffy called out had clearly not been Riley's. Still, she could see Buffy wasn't about to force Joyce to confront anything at this point in time.  
  
Buffy closed her eyes for just an instant, reminding herself of how very much her mother had liked Riley. It was only natural she should miss him, and even more natural for her to assume Buffy did too.  
  
The fact that Buffy had shed her first and last tears over Riley Finn on the day he left apparently had no bearing on this assumption.  
  
Resolutely keeping her mother's natural biases in mind, Buffy spoke slowly and patiently, as though to a small child. "Mom, it was just a bad dream. And I'm okay about Riley too, honest, but if I need to talk I promise you'll be the first one I whine to. Now just go back to bed. You still need your rest."  
  
Joyce smiled in relief, and just a trace of chagrin. "Say, who's the mom here anyway?"  
  
"You, and you're the best in the business." Buffy climbed out of her bed and gently guided her mother over to the door. "Which is why I need you to take care of yourself." With a final nudge, Joyce was out the door and on her way back to her own room.  
  
Dawn, however, was not so easily dismissed.  
  
"I heard what you yelled, Buffy," she said as she followed her older sister into the room. "Or actually who you were yelling to. Was it an old dream or one of the prophecy kind where something new and evil is going to get him?"  
  
"Nothing is going to get him," Buffy said firmly, slowly sliding beneath her covers. "He's fine, I'm sure of it. It's just..." she looked fretfully around the lighted room, "I could swear he was just here with me, but he couldn't have been. Unless..."  
  
"Unless something is wrong and he's dreaming with you again," Dawn finished for her. "Why don't you call him and make sure? I mean, if he's fine you can just tell him you're being a bitchy ex and checking up on him at three in the morning."  
  
Buffy smiled wryly. There were time Dawn drove her crazy, but sometimes she was unbelievably grateful for the twist of fate that gave her a younger sister just when she so desperately needed family around her.  
  
"Even if I thought he was home, which he's probably not," she glanced sharply at Dawn, "because he's working..."  
  
"Oh right; vampire. Not exactly the 9 to 5 type," Dawn admitted ruefully.  
  
"I...I don't know his number," Buffy finished shyly. "Wesley told Giles they moved, and it's not like he's ever been listed in the phonebook. How would I reach him?"  
  
"Umm, office phone?" Dawn suggested. "He must be listed in the yellow pages. And there's always Cordelia, and Wesley too. They have phones, and even if you don't know their numbers, they must be listed in the phone book. Call Directory Assistance."  
  
"When did you get to be the brainiac?" Buffy asked grudgingly as she reached for her phone.  
  
"While you were pummeling bad guys." Dawn flung herself on the foot of the bed, in defiance of the pointed glances Buffy was directing at the door.  
  
Buffy sighed; some battles were best not fought, or at least not at 3 a.m. She focused her energies on coming up with a valid excuse for disturbing her old friends' sleep as she dialed the numbers given to her by the phone company.  
  
"Machine," she said a few minutes later. She slammed the phone down in disgust. "I got machines for Cordy, Wes, even Angel's office, wherever that is now. What could they be doing at this hour of the night?"  
  
Dawn briefly considered offering Buffy's own explanation, but one look at her sister's set face warned her of the folly of such a course. Instead, she slid up the side of the bed until she sat beside Buffy.  
  
"Call Giles; you know he must have the address. Then borrow Mom's car and drive to LA." She wrapped her arm around her sister's slim shoulders. "You're only going to annoy the rest of us until you know he's okay, so you might as well get it over with and put us all out of our misery. It's not like he's going to call you and say 'hey, forget the dream; I'm not dead." She smiled teasingly. "Cause, he really is, remember?"  
  
Buffy swatted at her half-heartedly before giving her a hug. "You're only semi-helping at this point, kid," she murmured into Dawn's long hair.  
  
"I'm only semi-grown-up," Dawn reminded her as she got off her sister's bed. "Like a fine wine, I will get better with age."  
  
"And what do you know about fine wines?"  
  
"Only what you've told me, Miss Underage Drinker." Dawn skipped out of the room, calling over her shoulder as she left. "Call Giles. Then we can all get some sleep."  
  
Buffy sighed, her fingers already moving swiftly across the keypad.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"What's happening? I mean, what isn't happening?" Cordelia frantically tugged at Wesley's sleeve. "This isn't brain surgery; it's a stupid magic trick. Find a big box, insert one powdered vampire, wrap it all up with five more vamps, read the big bad voodoo riff and presto change-o! Pop-n- Fresh Angel. Why is this not happening?"  
  
According to all that Angel had told them, and all that Wesley had read in the last 12 hours, Angel should have been laying on the marble floor at their feet. Instead, there were five angry vampires chained in a circle around a big box, exactly the same as there had been a half-hour ago.  
  
"I don't...I don't know," Wesley stammered. "It should have worked by now." He looked down at the scroll in his hands. "Perhaps I mispronounced something."  
  
"Well say it right this time!" Cordelia stomped her foot and pointed to the scroll. "Again, Copperfield; from the top."  
  
"Maybe we should just..."  
  
Cordelia glared at Gunn, effectively silencing him with her barely restrained rage. "Maybe you should just be quiet and let Wesley concentrate. We don't have long before dawn and then these vamps really will be dust in the wind. Who builds a mausoleum with windows, for God's sake?"  
  
"Cordelia, please."  
  
"I'm sorry, Wesley. I'll be quiet now. Please try again." She was instantly contrite, reduced by circumstance to a frightened child alternately lashing out and clinging to those closest to her.  
  
Wesley reread the incantation, with Cordelia and Gunn chanting the refrain, but it was still no use. No matter how many times they repeated it, no matter how many variations of position or of intonation, there was no magical burst of energy, no otherworldly intervention, no Angel.  
  
"I don't understand," Cordelia said tearfully. "We did it all just like he said they did. We didn't have the monks, but I think Gunn and I did okay with the chanting."  
  
"It wasn't you," Wesley said softly. "Perhaps it just...wasn't meant to be."  
  
"No, that's not right. What kind of power would let Darla come back and not Angel?"  
  
Wesley held her as she cried, but he had no answer for her.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy slowly entered the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, her dread growing with each succeeding step. There was a pall in the air, a quiet deeper than the mere absence of sound. It was the loss of hope, the death of dreams, and it echoed through the empty spaces in her heart in devastating silence.  
  
At first she didn't notice the little crowd huddled on the stairs; she was searching for Angel with all of her senses. A voice calling out her name pulled her back from the world inside her head and suddenly she realized a tearful Cordelia was embracing her.  
  
"Oh God, you knew, you knew," Cordelia repeated over and over as she clung to Buffy.  
  
Buffy endured the embrace, focusing her energies on not giving in to the panic she could feel clawing at the back of her mind. She saw Wesley and Cordelia, and a strange young black man, but she didn't see Angel anywhere. More importantly, she didn't feel him anywhere. Not in the room, or the building, or even in that little corner of her soul where a sense of his essence always remained.  
  
It was as though he didn't exist.  
  
Buffy gasped and pushed Cordelia away. The Slayer staggered back a few steps and tried to calm her racing heart.  
  
"Where is he?" She glanced wildly from one face to the next, seeing only grief and pity. "Where is he?" she repeated. "I need to see him. I need...I need to know that he's all right."  
  
Cordelia sobbed and turned to bury her face in Wesley's shoulder. He patted her on the back soothingly as he spoke over her head to Buffy.  
  
"Buffy please sit down. We have something we need to tell you. Something we need to explain."  
  
"Explain standing up."  
  
Wesley recognized the implacable tone in her voice. There was only one person who had ever been able to break through it to turn the slayer from an unwise course. And if he were here, there would have been no need for the tone.  
  
He cleared his throat, trying to swallow the tears he could feel threatening him yet again. "It's a long story, I'm afraid. We need to go back several months if you are to understand the events leading up to the..."  
  
"Start with where Angel is and work backwards for the filler." She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, as though it would somehow guard the heart she could already feel shattering.  
  
Cordelia pulled away from Wesley, and shared a glance with the two men. By unspoken vote, it was Gunn who answered.  
  
"He's dead. I'm real sorry...we did everything we could, but...Angel's dead."  
  
She had known it from the moment she woke up, she had felt him ripped away from her soul and known it was forever, and yet she couldn't help the words that tumbled from her mouth.  
  
"You're lying."  
  
They didn't answer. They watched her and they waited, but they wouldn't take it back. She had to make them admit they were lying.  
  
"He's not dead. He can't die. He's immortal. And anyway, he's already dead and that hasn't slowed him down. He's not dead, he's not." She stumbled backwards and tripped over her feet, landing ungracefully on the floor, and still the words came.  
  
"He's not, I don't believe you. I don't even know you. Who are you? Do you actually think Angel would die and leave me alone? Do you actually think he would do that?"  
  
Wesley hurried to her, squatting on the floor next to her and cradling her in his arms, as he knew Angel would have wanted.  
  
"Buffy, my dear child, I know this has been a terrible shock. Please let us help you."  
  
She was on her feet in an instant, hurtling Wesley away from her with unintentional force. She glared at them, at all these so-called friends of Angel's who had failed to protect him.  
  
"Help? You think you can help me? You were supposed to be helping him. If he's really dead, I can't say much for your resumes." She needed to be alone; she had to get away from all these strangers so she could try to find some small remnant of Angel's soul within her to cling to. She spun on her heel, intent on leaving this monument to death and sorrow as soon as possible.  
  
"Buffy, we did try to help him," Cordelia called plaintively. "It should have worked...but something went wrong." She hung her head. "It's all my fault."  
  
Buffy turned around slowly, Cordelia's words slamming one by one into her frozen brain. When she could force her trembling lips to open, her question was dragged from a corner of her mind already overburdened with horrors she could never share or release.  
  
"What did you do?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 2

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 2  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
& PJ  
  
"What did you do?" Buffy repeated slowly and carefully. "What is your fault?"  
  
She stood perfectly, rigidly still. Her muscles screamed in protest as a wash of red covered her eyes. Cordelia took Angel away, Cordelia hurt Angel, and for that every molecule of her being, both Slayer and woman, fought for revenge. It took all her will to hold herself in check, but she stood fast. She needed information, not blood, and the stakes were too high to risk losing one for the sake of the other.  
  
Cordelia stared fixedly at the floor, unable to meet the Slayer's eyes. "Wesley didn't want to at first, but I talked him into it. It should have worked, we had it all planned out and it should have...but there was no poof, just powder. It should have worked," she insisted, raising her eyes at last.  
  
"Cordelia, you have just five seconds to tell me what you did." There was no 'or else' threat following her order; none was needed. One look in her cold hazel eyes was promise enough of the pain to follow disobedience.  
  
"We staked him," Wesley said bravely as he got to his feet. He walked over to Cordelia and rested a hand on her shoulder, trying to lend her some of his own faltering strength. "We believed we could make him human again, but only if he was reduced to..."  
  
"Ashes," Gunn finished. He shook his head, pitying the small, still woman in front of him. "We've seen it work. Well, not seen it work but we've seen that is has worked. That Darla chick was 400 hundred years worth of dead and they brought her back. We figured if the bad guys caught some slack, why not Angel?"  
  
"Darla? Darla's dead. What does this have to do with...I don't care." Buffy shook her head, trying to put things in order. She wouldn't let herself be sidetracked by sub-plots and secondary characters. All that mattered was the hero of the tale, somehow inexplicably lost. "Just tell me what you did so I can fix it."  
  
Suddenly she was quite sure she could fix it. She had to fix it, because not fixing meant Angel would never come back to her; never hold her or talk to her or smile that slow sweet smile at her or...she could fix this.  
  
"Don't you understand? We tried to fix things and that's what went wrong." Cordelia drew a deep breath and tried to find a small space of calm within her. Buffy was obviously in denial, more so than usual, and Angel would want them to take care of her first. Tears and self-recrimination could be indulged in later, when the only one to hear was a lonely ghost.  
  
"Tell me."  
  
The command in the Slayer's voice could not be denied.  
  
"Buffy, I'm afraid this does call for some backstory," Wesley apologized. He waved to a sofa. "Please sit down. Humor us."  
  
And so she humored them, fighting every Slayer-born instinct within her that howled for action. She sat through a long and frustrating tale of Angel's struggles with a law firm specializing in demons, his struggles with human and vampire Darla and his cessation of struggles with the demon inside of him. She pushed aside the knowledge of where this tale ended and tried to cocoon herself in the endless minutiae of demons and dream walking.  
  
"He lost it just about when the ex did," Gunn said grimly. "Fired all of us and took after them on his own. Just him and the demon he time shares with."  
  
"He was trying to protect us," Cordelia protested. "We thought he was giving in, or giving up, but he really just wanted us out of the way. But he did some.some really bad things to catch the Double Fang Twins." She looked beseechingly at Buffy. "I know he was sorry for what he did. I'm sure when he was alone it was Brood Boy to the max, but he never let anyone else see it. He couldn't."  
  
"The game would have been up." Wesley glanced up at the staircase landing, somehow expecting Angel to come down the steps any moment. "I can't say I agree with his methods, but he was doing what he thought was...the most right out of some very wrong possibilities."  
  
"Why didn't he just pick up the damn phone and call me?" Buffy stood up and began to rapidly pace the length of the lobby, trying to outrun the truth on a worn stretch of Oriental carpeting. "Did he think I wouldn't be interested in Darla coming back? It's not like she wasn't trying to kill me the last time she died, which, by the way, is apparently no longer technically the last time she died."  
  
"He didn't want them to come after you," Cordelia explained, the beginning of anger showing in her voice. "He thought if he stayed away they would think he didn't care and then you wouldn't be worth killing. And it wasn't just Dumb and Dumber he was afraid of either; those lawyers could have sent some pretty nasty nasties after you if they knew what you meant to him."  
  
"He was also concerned that you were experiencing some difficulties of your own," Wesley added hesitantly. "He wouldn't specify; I'm not sure he even knew the details, but he could...feel that something was wrong. He didn't want to worry you."  
  
Buffy stopped pacing and closed her eyes, covering them with one hand. "My mom was really sick. Cancer. She almost.she could have died. But she's okay now." Her hand fell from her face as she smiled crookedly at Wesley. "I wanted to call him at least a thousand times. I knew he'd come and...even if he couldn't make it all better at least he'd make it bearable. But I couldn't call." She sighed deeply. "I knew something was wrong with him too, and I didn't want to worry him. I didn't feel like I had the right to worry him."  
  
The irony was excruciating. He had felt her pain, even as she had felt his, and yet neither one of them wanted to "bother" the other. Angel always used to be her first and only true shelter from the troubles of the world, and she had been his. How had they drifted so far apart that a simple phone call was an unbearable imposition?  
  
"What did he do?" she asked softly, not really sure she wanted the answer. "You killed him for it; what could he have done that was so terrible if the demon wasn't in control?"  
  
"It wasn't what he did exactly; it was what he gave up by doing what he did that made us do what we did," Cordelia answered. She glanced at Wesley and then at Gunn, but neither man seemed inclined to finish the story for her. With a sigh, she continued.  
  
"He was supposed to become human if he did enough good, to kind of make up for the badness of the demon, if you know what I mean. But then he did some stuff... without the demon, and we just knew that was it; he blew his chance at mortality. So we tried to give it to him."  
  
"But what..."  
  
"He didn't kill anyone, at least not on purpose, if that's what you're asking." Gunn was as surprised by the anger in his voice as Wesley and Cordelia obviously were. He took a deep breath and tried to regain his distance. "He let people die, or maybe he just let them be in the wrong place at the wrong time and didn't get there himself at the right time; I don't know. But people died because he didn't save them, and I don't think the big guys were prepared to overlook it this time."  
  
"He was trying to draw Dru and Darla out," Cordelia elaborated. "Once the lawyers died, he realized they were going for quantity, not quality. So he set up, well, I guess you could call them all-you-can-eat people buffets, figuring he could rescue the entrees before it was too late. But even Dru and Darla weren't crazy enough to fall for that, so he upped the ante." Cordelia stopped, unwilling to commit herself further.  
  
Buffy waited impatiently for the other shoe, but Cordelia wasn't in a dropping mood. Finally the Slayer looked to her former Watcher for an explanation.  
  
"Angel had a friend, you see," Wesley began awkwardly. "Her name is, was, Kate."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Kate.  
  
Her name fell like a stone into still waters, spreading ripples of guilt as it flowed through the lobby.  
  
Gunn lurched to his feet and crossed to the other side of the room, developing an intense interest in a carving on the wall. Cordelia busied herself arranging and rearranging the two magazines on the end table facing away from Buffy. Only Wesley stood his ground.  
  
"She was a policewoman, a detective actually. Perhaps you remember her from your, umm, visit last spring?" When his delicately phrased question elicited no answer other than a nod, he continued. "She and Angel were friends, or at least allies, until she discovered he was a vampire. That somewhat altered her opinion of him."  
  
"She freaked," Cordelia said flatly. She abandoned her futile attempts to straighten up and threw herself in the chair next to Buffy. "First she just made snippy little comments and arrested him a lot. But when some vamps killed her father, she decided to hold Angel personally responsible for every demon in town. And that's a whole lot of demons."  
  
Wesley sat down next to Buffy on the sofa. "She only began to relent when she realized Darla and Drusilla were the greater danger. And that, I'm afraid, was her undoing."  
  
Again the guilty silence.  
  
"What did he do?" Buffy asked again, her tone indicating this would be the last time she would repeat herself.  
  
"He used her," Gunn said at last. He made no move to leave his post by the wall, but he made the concession of facing Buffy as he made his accusation. "I don't know how, or even if, he talked her into it, but he made it look like they had a thing, so the psycho chicks would go after her."  
  
"Instead of us," Cordelia added indignantly. "Instead of Buffy. He talked to Kate about it, I'm sure he did, and he meant to get there in time to rescue her."  
  
"But he didn't," Wesley finished heavily. "He used Kate as bait, and when he showed up for battle, they had already left and Kate was dead. He saw...he saw that they had tried to turn her, but apparently her fear of becoming a vampire was greater than her fear of death."  
  
"Well duh," Cordelia sniffed. "Hello, the woman was a homicide cop whose father was killed by vampires. What do you think she would hate more?"  
  
"How did you find out all of this?" Buffy asked slowly. This had to be wrong; this could not be her Angel they were talking about. He would never have risked someone else's life. Only his own seemed to have no value to him.  
  
"He had a journal. Bunches of them." Cordelia waved to Gunn, who produced a box from behind the counter. After he placed the box on the end of the sofa, Cordelia dove in with both hands, pulling out a multitude of leather- bound books and piling them on the cushions. "We haven't read much, honest, but finding these was what told us what he'd been up to. Sneakily speaking."  
  
"They seem to be addressed to you Buffy," Wesley said gently. "We didn't want to pry, but he'd been behaving so oddly and when Kate died he just seemed to...fold up on himself. When he went looking for Darla, after the funeral, we came here to look for clues. We found these."  
  
Buffy stretched out a trembling hand to retrieve a journal from Cordelia's grasp. She pulled it to her chest, clutching it as though it was a loved one...or all that was left of one.  
  
"Some of the answers you seek are undoubtedly within those pages, but I'm afraid not all." Wesley's smile was gentle as he remembered his friend. "Angel seldom offered excuses or explanations for what he did, especially if he felt there was blame to be assigned. He simply accepted what he felt was his due...and then a few helpings more."  
  
"Kate wasn't the first one he let die, and she wasn't the last," Gunn said harshly. The anger he had been feeling for weeks was beginning to boil over, brought to a head by the sight of Buffy tenderly embracing the last words of a dead man. A man who died because he wouldn't accept help freely offered, and valued friendship so much that he spurned the relationship to protect the giver.  
  
Buffy waited stoically for the next blow.  
  
"Yesterday he went after them full bore," Wesley said, shooting a warning glance at Gunn. Wounding Buffy would not serve to punish Angel, not anymore. "He traced them to an abandoned apartment building and he went to confront them one last time. We had only just learned the truth behind his actions and we went after him...but it was too late."  
  
"When we got there the building was on fire, courtesy of Angel." Cordelia pulled her long legs up on the sofa and wrapped her arms around them. Her chin dropped onto her knees as she stared off into space. "We managed to get past the firefighters by sneaking in through a basement window. We found Angel laying on the stairs, almost...well, if he were anyone else I'd say almost dead."  
  
"He wasn't making much sense, kept talking about screams and blood and all. We thought he meant the Sin Sisters." Gunn's anger faded into shame. He knew deep in his heart that Angel had been doing his best in an untenable situation, and he had paid a terrible price for his miscalculation.  
  
Yet even at his worst moment, Angel had still been thinking of others, and Gunn suddenly realized he should try to follow his friend's example. As hard as it was for him to relive the past few weeks, he could see how much harder it must be for Buffy to hear of it all once the decisions were made and outcomes determined.  
  
"There were people in the basement; that was what he meant. He didn't know about it when he set the fire, and he was trying to get to them when we found him. But we couldn't hear them and he wasn't making any sense." Cordelia looked imploringly at Wesley. "I didn't hear anything but the fire; did you?"  
  
"The fire, the sirens, ourselves calling out to Angel, that was all I could hear," Wesley confessed. "But his hearing was so much more acute. It wasn't until we heard the reports on the radio several hours later that we knew bodies had been found in the debris."  
  
"The newspapers this morning mentioned chains and stuff too," Gunn added. "I'm guessing the ladies took a liking to the vamp version of TV dinners - nothing fancy, but ready and waiting to be eaten."  
  
"We don't know whether Darla and Dru told him they were there, or he just heard them as he was trying to get out of the building." Cordelia grimaced. "Probably Door Number 2, unless they were sure he wouldn't get to the basement in time. He was pretty bad off."  
  
"He was hurt?" Buffy asked in a small voice. Why his injuries mattered when the worst had already come to pass, she could not say. She only knew that she needed details about him as she needed air.  
  
Cordelia nodded solemnly, in perfect sync with Wesley and Gunn.  
  
"Burns," she answered softly. "Probably holy water, because they didn't start to heal right away like the fire ones. And bones going all the wrong way. Blood everywhere, and more holes than a body is supposed to have room for."  
  
"He would have healed eventually, at least physically. But he was...haunted...by what he had done." Wesley shook his head at the memory of Angel's wild eyes staring at him from the depths of his pillow, the broken confession tumbling from heat-scarred lips. "As gravely injured as he was, we finally had to sedate him to keep him from leaving. He felt...unworthy of our assistance."  
  
"That's when we realized we had to make him human ourselves, because the Powers never would. We knew it wasn't going to make the guilt go away, but...we couldn't leave him like that for eternity." Cordelia wiped her eyes, without fanfare, but also without shame.  
  
"Trouble is, we screwed up," Gunn said huskily. "We read that scroll backwards, forwards, facing east, and with Wesley here almost standing on his head, but we couldn't make it work for us." He raised his hands, turning them over as he shrugged his shoulders.  
  
"So Angel killed Darla and Dru, and then you killed him?" A few brief words, paring the story that ended her world down to its essential components.  
  
Three heads nodded simultaneously.  
  
"We don't know how he got both of them, but that was about the only thing he was making sense on. He said they were gone, for good and amen to it, or some shit, uh, something like that." Gunn rubbed his head, trying to remember the exact words. "Or maybe it was 'for all time and amen.' I remember the amen part, because I was kind of surprised a vampire could say something like that."  
  
"He was a most unusual vampire, and man," Wesley eulogized softly.  
  
Buffy could feel the scream rising in the back of her throat. Story hour was over, the ending to the tale laid out in nice neat prose she was meant to acknowledge and accept. No more Angel; time to move on to Book 2 of her life.  
  
"This is not over. I won't accept it. There has to be something more we can do; someone we can appeal to." Buffy glanced desperately from one grim face to the next. "Think, damn you! You created this mess, now you're going to help me fix it."  
  
"Now wait just one minute, Buffy." Cordelia sprang to her feet, all sympathy for Buffy washed away in a tidal wave of outrage. "You're the one he was really jonesing to protect. It was always you, and you never realized how much it cost him."  
  
"Now you're lecturing me on relationships?" Buffy advanced on Cordelia, grateful for a reason to abandon hopeless reality for pointless violence. "You don't know anything about Angel and I. I never asked him to protect me; I just wanted him with me."  
  
"Does any of this really matter?" Wesley implored. "We've all lost him; let's not waste time assigning blame."  
  
"Time. Time!" Cordelia snapped her fingers and truly smiled for the first time in days. "Wesley, you're a genius. All we need to do is take back time. We won't even need the full 24 to get Angel back to pre-powdered form."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Twenty-four what, Cordelia? You're not making sense." Wesley rubbed his forehead, trying to follow her train of thought before it completely de- railed.  
  
"Hours, dummy," she snapped at him. "Each day comes with twenty-four of those little babies, and that's more than enough to get Angel back. And as long as one of us remembers, we'll get it right with the do-over. Whatever right is." She sprang to her feet, ready for action.  
  
"So what, we just turn back the clocks or something?" Gunn asked skeptically. "Maybe do a little more chanting while we're at it, cause you know I just can't get enough of that chanting."  
  
"Stop it! I can't do this; I can't handle you fighting like everything is normal when Angel..." Buffy's voice was choked with tears. For one brief instant, Cordelia offered a way out of the nightmare.until Wesley and Gunn showed her plan for what it really was.  
  
Desperation's last stand.  
  
Cordelia immediately dropped on the sofa next to Buffy and put her arms around her old nemesis. "Buffy I'm not kidding, and I'm not crazy. We can't do it ourselves, but I know someone who can." Suddenly a thought struck her and she glanced doubtfully up at Wesley. "Or they could if they were still alive themselves...but I'm sure the PTBs must have hired replacements by now."  
  
Wesley's eyebrows shot up his forehead as the light dawned. "Are you talking about the Oracles? Angel's Oracles? They really have, that is to say had, the power to turn back time?"  
  
"They did it before," Cordelia answered quickly. A little too quickly, she suddenly realized, remembering Buffy sitting next to her. Inwardly she squirmed, waiting for the inevitable hard questions to follow.  
  
"When before?" Gunn asked. "Or does time turning back mean it's actually a when not before?"  
  
"What does it matter if they're dead?" Buffy sounded almost dead herself; the news of Angel's death was finally creeping through her defenses, battering her weary soul unmercifully. He was gone, forever this time. No second chances, no more 'maybe someday'; he was beyond her reach now, and always would be.  
  
"They must have someone else working the spot now," Cordelia answered gratefully. Of all those present, she feared Buffy's questions the most, for the Slayer had the most to gain and lose by the answers. Apparently she was to be spared, at least for now, the giving of those answers.  
  
"Cordelia may be right, much as it pains me to say so." Wesley began to pace, trying to work out a new strategy with the tools at hand. "The Oracles served a purpose, as a conduit to the Powers. Surely the Powers would wish to preserve such a intermediary position, to limit their contact with the mortal world."  
  
"All I caught was 'Cordelia may be right,' and that's scary enough. Do we really want to be looking these people up?" Gunn sounded doubtful, but he was already reaching for his favorite axe, earlier abandoned behind the counter.  
  
"You really think this is a chance?" Buffy didn't know what she hoped for in an answer; she wasn't sure she could handle losing Angel one more time.  
  
"I don't know if it is a real chance," Wesley admitted, "but it is perhaps our only chance."  
  
"Then we do it. Now."  
  
Even if they had wanted to, none would have dared disobey her now.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy couldn't stop shivering as she descended the steps into the basement of the old post office behind Wesley. It wasn't the cool temperature, or the dampness; she'd experienced much worse than this. There was a chill deep within her now, a razor-sharp sliver of ice piercing her soul where once a man had dwelt. He had been her light, her warmth, her true home, and without him all was howling winds and chaos.  
  
She would never be warm again.  
  
"I think maybe just Buffy and I should go in," Cordelia said as she laid the brass bowl on a pedestal in preparation for the summoning spell. "I don't know how many this portal will seat, and I really don't want to get stuck in another dimension without a ride home."  
  
"Agreed," Wesley said, "but I think leaving Gunn to man the exit, as it were, should be sufficient. I think my place is with you two." He saw Cordelia was about to protest, and raised his hand to silence her. "You don't know what you will be facing, and I have more experience dealing with...well, if the being who is now the conduit to the Powers is anything like the Oracles, he or she will appreciate my classically educated mind rather more than your somewhat modern way of thinking."  
  
Cordelia grimaced as she looked at Buffy. "That's his long-winded way of saying he's going to pout if we leave him behind."  
  
"Whatever. Can we just get on with this?" Buffy rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to warm the flesh in lieu of the soul she could not reach.  
  
"Uh yeah, getting on with this, that's what we're doing." Cordelia gestured nervously to Gunn, indicating he should begin the ritual. She took her place at Buffy's side and clasped the Slayer's cold hand, as Wesley did the same on Buffy's other side. Together they faced the eastern wall, waiting for a portal to emerge from the marble.  
  
Gunn scowled as he began to pour the crystals into the bowl. "Always Gunn on vocals. Do you people have some sort of hang up about doing your own damn chanting?" Without giving them a chance to reply, he began reading the words Wesley had carefully inscribed for him on a sheet of looseleaf paper.  
  
A moment later there was a sudden whoosh, and Gunn was alone.  
  
* * * * *  
  
They stumbled separately through the portal; their handholding rendered impossible by the need to block tender eyes from the bright white glow.  
  
"Had a feeling you'd end up here today, Princess."  
  
Cordelia dropped her arm from over her eyes and stared. It wasn't possible, not in a million years.  
  
"Doyle?" she breathed.  
  
"In the...well, not exactly flesh, but something close enough," the Irishman answered cheerfully. "Surprised to see me, are you? Or is it just surprised to see me here? Never thought I'd make the grade, eh?" He grinned amiably; he'd never thought he'd make it either.  
  
"No, well yes, but...it's just...okay, when I pictured you...there were never harps involved but I didn't...this is just so not you," Cordelia stammered. She looked to Buffy and Wesley for agreement, but quickly realized they would be of no help in this argument.  
  
"Kinda funny when you think about it." Doyle hitched his thumbs in his belt loops and leaned back as he glanced around the marbled chamber. "Imagine putting a Belfast boy under an American post office to help preserve peace and balance in the universe. Good to know someone up there has a sense of humor."  
  
"So does this mean you're not really..." She hesitated, unwilling to use the word 'dead' to describe so vibrant a personality.  
  
He shook his head. "Sorry, darlin;' as a doornail. In here I'm a fair approximation of the man I once was. Take me out of this dimension and I'd cast about as much shadow as your buddy Dennis."  
  
"But to see you like this.it's like you're still one of us."  
  
"All I'm seeing is time ticking away," Buffy said flatly. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and rested her hands on her hips, assuming a bravado she could not hope to feel. "I'm sorry to interrupt the reunion, but I understand you're the man with his finger on the stopwatch."  
  
Doyle's smile faded abruptly. "I'm sorry for your loss, Buffy. I know we didn't have time to get to know each other in life, but I feel like I know you through Angel. And if you're even half the girl he said you were, you two must have made an amazing team." He paused. "Once upon a time."  
  
"Time, yes, time," Cordelia broke in impatiently. "We need it, Doyle. We've done something really stupid," she glanced at her companions, "well, I made us do something really stupid and we need to not do it. I don't even need 24 hours to fix this one; twelve would work perfectly well."  
  
Wesley looked at his watch before adding his voice to her plea. "Though if you want to give us the full 24 that would be even more helpful. It would be cutting it close, but I think we might just be able to rescue those people from the cellar. Surely that would be incentive enough to accede to our request."  
  
Cordelia nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, this wouldn't just be for Angel, though that is why we came. We could help those poor people out of a burning building. Wouldn't the Powers like that? I mean that is what we're supposed to be doing; helping people, rescuing them."  
  
Buffy had been watching Doyle's face as Cordelia and Wesley nervously put forth their petition. The Irishman didn't look hopeful, or happy, or even politely encouraging.  
  
All she saw was an aching sympathy.  
  
"Why don't you just ask for a week while you're at it?" she said harshly. "You'll get just as far. Can't you see he's not going to help us?"  
  
"Buffy, this is Doyle." Cordelia placed one hand on Buffy's shoulder and the other on Doyle's. "He's our friend. He's Angel's friend. He'll help Angel; of course he will."  
  
"I can't."  
  
Cordelia's hand abruptly fell from his shoulder when she heard his quiet words.  
  
"What do you mean you can't? You know it can be done; you're the one who told me about it the last time. Is it just you? I mean, haven't they given you the power yet, because if they haven't just point us to the right portal and we'll be on our way. You know, I'd...I'd like to come back later and chat and all; I really would. But we're kind of in a time crunch here. You understand." Cordelia started backing up towards the solid wall behind her, waiting for a portal to appear to whisk her to the correct bureau or court of appeals.  
  
"I can't do it because it can't be done," Doyle explained gently. "What's done can't be undone."  
  
"Yes it can," Cordelia snapped. "If the Oracles did it for you-know-who you-know-when and you-know-why, then you know it can."  
  
He smiled sadly at her. "Can't argue with that sentence, even assuming I could puzzle my way through it. Truth is, there's nothing I'd like better than to give Angel another shot, but the Powers want this at an end. He's done what he was needed to do; the rest can be done by others."  
  
"Hey, when you died he went to bat for you. Are you trying to get back at him because he couldn't swing it?" She paused for a moment. "Oh God, I'm reduced to sports metaphors. Do you see the damage you're doing?" Cordelia tossed her chin and pointedly avoided looking at her late friend. "I thought you were better than that, Doyle."  
  
"You can't shame me into it, darlin'. I don't have a choice any more than the Oracles did when I died." He took a step towards Cordelia, wincing when she took a reflexive step backwards. "You can't bend and fold time to suit your pleasures."  
  
"So that's it? Angel sacrifices himself in the name of his friends, and his reward is...nothingness? Oblivion?" Wesley took a step forward. "Good God, man; have you no sense of honor?"  
  
"Honor is a grand idea, but it doesn't pay the rent or kill the demons." Doyle shrugged helplessly. "The Powers were willing to grant Angel another chance at life if he did well in the fight against the darkness. Instead he used the darkness as a weapon against itself, and he fell on the sword."  
  
"So Darla was a test, and he failed." Buffy shook her head, smiling bitterly. "Gotta love these all-powerful beings who have nothing better to do with their eternities than put trip wires in front of the finish line."  
  
"But he can still do good," Cordelia wailed. "All we need is the time to get him back on his feet...to get back his feet and the rest of him too. We'll make sure he doesn't screw up the next test. We'll use flash cards and demon Cliff Notes and whatever else it takes, won't we?" She looked beseechingly from Buffy to Wesley.  
  
"He belongs here with us. There are still battles to be fought and I need...we need him to fight them." Buffy clenched her fists, fighting to control the traitorous tears that prickled behind her eyes. Tears were a victory the Powers did not deserve.  
  
"You're still here; you can fight for him."  
  
"And that's their final decision? He makes one mistake and he's out of the game? Sorry Angel; no redemption, no humanity, just pick up your toys and go to hell." Buffy's voice faded for a moment, dying in the attempt to flow past her closed throat. "If you ever gave a damn about him, you'd help us. You know what good he can do; how good he is. He doesn't deserve this." She gasped, shocked by the effort it took to keep breathing, but she refused to drop her blazing eyes from Doyle's face.  
  
"Destiny isn't deserved, Buffy. It just is."  
  
"Where is he? I have to know where."  
  
She reached out to him, not sure if she was going to plead for mercy or wring his neck once he was within her grasp. The decision was made for her when a bright light flashed in her eyes and she felt herself falling backwards onto the cool marble floor outside the portal.  
  
* * * * *  
  
-To Be Continued- 


	4. Chapter 3

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 3  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
& PJ  
  
Buffy walked silently through the doors of the old hotel, following the others by instinct rather than will. Her body was numb, but less so than her mind and heart. She could hear quiet voices, street sounds, even the reluctant hum of the furnace jolted into awareness by a sudden drop in the temperature, but none of it could touch her. Nothing could crawl into the hole where her soul was hiding and force her to come out again. Not ever again.  
  
"So, I'm guessing things didn't go too well at the Emerald City."  
  
That voice; she knew that voice. She whirled around to confirm her suspicions, stumbling down the last step as she backed away from an old reminder of past sins and sorrows.  
  
"I should have known you'd turn up." The bitterness in her voice was corrosive enough to strip the flesh from his bones. "When Angel was doing okay, you could have cared less. But show you a way to make life hell for both of us and you're on the first bus into town."  
  
"Hey kid, I had nothing to do with this one." He held up his hands in surrender, tracing a cautious half-circle around her as he entered the lobby.  
  
"Buffy, who is this person?" Wesley took a step forward and stood by Buffy's side, ready to offer protection or support, whichever became necessary.  
  
"His name is Whistler," she spat out. "He's part-demon and part-ghoul. As soon as Angel gets into trouble, up he pops to make it worse. Sorry you missed the fun this time; he went ahead and died without you."  
  
Something inside her froze when she said that word. Dead. The nightmare was real, and she'd just admitted it. Whistler made her admit it. She glared at him with renewed fury.  
  
"I know; that's why I came." Whistler dropped one hand to his side, while the other reached up to pull the hat from his head. "I'm sorry kid, honest I am. I never saw this one coming."  
  
Buffy wrenched herself away from his painfully sympathetic glance. "Sure you didn't, just like you never saw what I would have to do to him that night with Acathla. No wonder you told me to stake him first and ask questions later; it would have saved so much trouble." Her restless feet carried her around the perimeter of the lobby, as though there was an escape route somewhere along its border to take her away from the pain.  
  
"I was trying to save you both some hell, if you'll pardon the expression. Turns out I was wrong; there was still stuff he needed to do."  
  
"And now it's done. Or so say the all-knowing Powers That Be." She stopped her restive pacing. "Powers That Be what; did anyone ever ask? Be Cruel? Be Vicious? Be Unforgiving and Judgmental? I really wonder what it says on their drivers' licenses for last name." Her fury exhausted, she buried her face in her hands.  
  
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. He was a nice kid, when he wasn't being a pain in the ass. He had, you know, potential."  
  
Whistler took a few steps closer, raising Buffy's defensive shields. She lifted her head and stared at him, sending an icy chill down his back. He stopped in his tracks, unwilling to get too close to the primal rage he could see lurking in those hazel depths.  
  
"Now that potential is yours, Slayer. You're the one who has to fight for him, and there seems to be some doubt whether you're up to it anymore."  
  
"He died hours ago," she ground out through a throat clogged with tears. "Hours ago, and you show up here to tell me to buck up and forget about it because there are still bad guys to beat on?"  
  
Whistler's voice was unexpectedly gentle as he answered her. "You won't forget, kid, any more than he will. But the game's not over yet, and he's expecting you to finish it for him."  
  
In a flash she was on him, clutching at his lapels with a strength easily surpassing the combined efforts of Gunn and Wesley to detach her.  
  
"Where is he? You know; tell me."  
  
The demon shook his head, clearly confused. "He's dead; you know that one."  
  
"His soul; what did you do...where did he...where?" The last word was broken in two by an escaping sob. Buffy shoved Whistler away from her and turned away to shield her grief.  
  
"Dear Lord," Wesley breathed, "it never even occurred to me..."  
  
Comprehension swept through Whistler's eyes. "He's okay, kid. Not great, because he's not real good at doing great...but he's not there. They didn't send him back, and they won't. I promise."  
  
Still she would not face him. "You're sure?"  
  
She felt a tentative hand come to rest on her shoulder, a gentle squeeze meant to offer comfort and succor. "He has to answer for what he's done, not settle the demon's debts. He wasn't exactly perfect, you know, so there's some amending to be done in his own right...but it's not enough to earn him a seat by the fire."  
  
"Then why couldn't we make him human?" Cordelia cried out in frustration. "So Darla got to be one as a test; not fair but okay. But why not Angel?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
All eyes in the room fixed on Whistler, waiting for a revelation. Waiting for the words that would magically heal the open wounds, restore order to the universe. He reached deep into his ancient soul for answers that ones so young could understand.  
  
"You're thinking of that scroll all wrong, guys," he said at last. "You all saw it as some sort of reward for good behavior. He did too." Whistler turned to Wesley, attempting an ingratiating smile. "I'm sure you translated your little heart out, and with your glasses and that accent...well of course they're going to think it's the gospel according to Obi Wan Kenobi or something. But you got it wrong pal. It was supposed to be a gift, when and if the time was right."  
  
"What, pray tell, is the difference?" Wesley was not placated by Whistler's awkward efforts to soothe his ego, but curiosity outweighed pride. Almost.  
  
"You, all of you, thought he was here doing time on The Rock for all the bad stuff his demon did. Angel was always supposed to be vamp, guys, and he was always supposed to get his soul back; how else do you think he was supposed to fight Acathla?" Whistler raised an eyebrow at Buffy. "Well, until he and Little Miss Cheerleader here rewrote future history."  
  
"Don't..." Buffy began.  
  
"All I'm saying," Whistler hastily continued, "is that he wasn't supposed to be paying off the demon's markers, and the Powers weren't going to give him a heartbeat as a receipt. Anything he has to answer for with them is because of what he did with a human soul."  
  
"Then why are they punishing him now? He was trying to do more than most humans would ever dare."  
  
Wesley could not disguise the disillusionment in his voice. Though he would rather die than admit it, he still believed in the old legends that rewarded the valiant and brought low the unworthy. He became a Watcher to aid in that quest, and working with Angel had only cemented his commitment. Now the Powers seemed hell bent on making a mockery of his cause.  
  
"They're not punishing him," the demon answered desperately. "You gotta remember he actually died two hundred and fifty years ago. His body just didn't get the message because the demon was picking up the mail. To make him human again, that was a very big concession on the part of the Powers, and it wasn't one they were going to make for any old Joe Do-Gooder. In time, he would have made the grade." He winced; knowing the next part of the message would not be well received. "You didn't let him have that time."  
  
"So it is my fault," Cordelia said slowly, turning away from her friends. "I thought I was helping him...I was so sure they would never make him human and we couldn't leave him alone with all that guilt for eternity." She shook her head, trying to dislodge the tears from her face as she forced herself to face Buffy. "All he ever wanted was to be human...so he could be with you. After all he suffered because of that damn demon, after a hundred years of brooding and angsting, all the centuries being tortured in hell, the most he asked for was a chance to grow old and wrinkly and die...with you. I didn't think it was that much to ask for."  
  
"What he's got now, that's the best any soul has a right to expect."  
  
"He's not just any soul," Wesley answered softly.  
  
Whistler smiled slightly as he slapped Wesley on the back. He respected a man who stood by his friends. "I can tell that when I hear you all speaking up for him. Not many souls get so many people willing to go to the mat for them."  
  
"But it won't help." Buffy's voice came from a great distance, lost and solitary as it struggled to reach beyond the surrounding world to realms unseen by all but the human heart.  
  
"It will, in its own way. The key is to keep fighting the good fight, like he was still there with you. Eventually he'll find his way home anyway, but he can do it a whole lot faster if you do your part. All of you, like the story says."  
  
"Home?" Buffy remembered the word, but it had been so long since she felt she had one. Not since Angel left.  
  
"Story?" Cordelia added skeptically.  
  
"You know, it's been kind of an office joke since you guys hooked up," Whistler confided with a smile. "Not you and Angel," he hastened to add, "I mean the friends of Dorothy here."  
  
"I ain't no friend of Dorothy," Gunn growled.  
  
"Friend of...whatever do you mean?" Wesley quickly asked Whistler. A second later he transferred his puzzled gaze to Gunn. "Both of you," he clarified.  
  
Gunn glowered silently, refusing to dignify the question with a response.  
  
Whistler made no attempt to hide his smirk. "Look around you, fella. Behold the Cowardly Lion,' he pointed to Wesley, "the Tin Man," he gestured to Gunn, "and last but not least, the Scarecrow."  
  
Cordelia looked ready to bite off the finger Whistler was pointing at her. "Just who are you calling Scarecrow, Mr. I-Escaped-From-The-'Guys and Dolls'-Road-Company?"  
  
"Does the world think you have a brain, sweetheart, or do you come as a big surprise in a long-legged package?" Before Cordelia could answer, he moved on to the next argument. "And Quiver King here," he pointed to Wesley, "is it me or does everyone just about keel over when he stands his ground and fights back? Don't even get me started on Big Tough Gang Guy here, with his crib full of little birds to feed. You're like the characters turned inside out. You know what you are inside, but you can't see it in each other, and no one else sees it in you either. Except Angel, he saw the right stuff in all of you. He just couldn't see it in himself."  
  
"And just as Angel's efforts to help the unfortunates of the world helped the rest of us to find our purpose, we can now be of help to him by coming to the aid of others." Wesley smiled, feeling a small measure of peace steal over him. "I think he would enjoy the symmetry."  
  
"Got it in one," Whistler crowed. "Well, more like thirty-two, but for you it was pretty good English."  
  
"So if we're all the..." Cordelia glanced warily at Gunn, "umm, companions of Dorothy, and I'm guessing you're turning Angel into Dorothy, which believe me you would not have gotten away with if he was here to defend himself..."  
  
"Is there a point, or maybe just an end, to this?" Whistler pleaded.  
  
"Who," Cordelia continued stridently, "is Buffy? Toto?"  
  
The sweetness of Whistler's smile was dazzling. "She's Kansas, at least for Angel. Home sweet home."  
  
"Then let him come home," Buffy begged softly. One last plea, though by now she knew it was useless. One last sacrifice of pride, in the name of hopeless dreams.  
  
"Someday kid," he promised, backing up slowly towards the doors. "Not today, but someday."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Wesley, I'm worried about Buffy."  
  
Wesley glanced down at Cordelia as she rested her head on his shoulder. They had been sitting side by side on the stairs for hours, waiting for the Slayer to come down from Angel's room. Though he knew it would take time for his former charge to say goodbye to her lost love, Wesley was beginning to wonder if they were ever going to be able to cease their vigil.  
  
"She's been up there a very long time," he agreed. "I can't imagine she's trying to read all those journals in one night. Do you think we should check on her?" He started to stand up, but Cordelia pulled him back down beside her.  
  
"I don't mean just now I'm worried. Well, I am," she corrected herself, "but not just for now. Normal people would be crying, like we all have."  
  
"I haven't been..."  
  
"There was something in my..."  
  
"This is not to say I expect Buffy to behave normally," Cordelia continued, firmly ignoring the chorus of masculine protests. "She never has; she never will. But she's been so quiet; hardly any of the kick-ass Buffy spark at all since she got here. And she only insulted me once, which is way not like her. She should be pounding down the post office walls to get to the portal, or on the phone with Willow ordering orbs and magic potions. She hasn't even asked us to try the resurrection spell again so she can see what we did wrong."  
  
"We know that it's hopeless," Wesley pointed out in a sweetly reasonable tone guaranteed, if not designed, to set Cordelia's teeth on edge. "What would be the point?"  
  
"The point is it would be Buffy!" Cordelia pounded the step with her fist. "She's not Susie Sensible, you know. She...reacts to things first, and then she gets philosophical later, after she's killed something. This grown-up 'life sucks and then you die' approach is just not normal. I'm afraid she's going to blow."  
  
"But wouldn't that make her feel better?" Gunn asked from the step below. "You just said the girl needs to kill something to put the planets back in alignment."  
  
"I'm not worried about her going ballistic on the demons of the world," Cordelia explained impatiently. She glanced up the stairs, but Buffy was nowhere in sight. Regardless, she lowered her voice. "I'm worried she'll turn it on herself. She's lost Angel once too often, I think, and I'm not sure she's got the stuff to pick up and move on this time." She paused. "If she ever really did before."  
  
"We each grieve in our own way, Cordelia, but you must remember that first and foremost, Buffy is a slayer. She is well aware that she cannot afford to lose control of her emotions, even healthy ones. The consequences could be devastating." Wesley closed his eyes and shuddered as he remembered another slayer in his charge; one slightly less emotionally guarded, and more inclined to act upon her emotions than Buffy.  
  
"So you're saying she isn't even allowed to cry? That's harsh, man."  
  
"She can cry, Gunn; I saw her do it. Once." Cordelia paused for a moment, marshaling her facts. "And of course when Angel was doing his whole bad boy Angelus thing she was always coming in to school with red puffy eyes, so I know she's capable of it. But she'd literally almost rather die than have anyone see her do it." She smiled wistfully. "Anyone but Angel, that is."  
  
"And if he ain't here to hold the hanky? What exactly are we talking about on the dire scale?"  
  
"Surely you don't think she would try anything to harm herself?" This time Wesley pulled free of Cordelia's restraining grasp and got to his feet. "If you seriously believe this, I must call Giles right away. Obviously we can't bother her mother with this, given her recent state of health, but he may be able to get through to Buffy where we cannot."  
  
Cordelia shook her head, gesturing for Wesley to sit down. "Call Giles before she goes home if you want, but I don't think it will do much good. If she's really determined...well, you and I both know there was only one person who could ever make her see reason where she didn't want to see it, and he's not here anymore." She sighed heavily. "That's why I'm so worried."  
  
"So this girl, I'm thinking you and she used to be tight, at least tight enough to fight like sisters. You think she's on the ledge, and you don't think we should call her friends to put out the rubber mats? Glad we're not that close." Gunn slapped his hand repeatedly on the step, nervously tapping out a melody only he could hear.  
  
"I didn't say we shouldn't call." Cordelia took a swipe at Gunn's head, only half-heartedly hoping to connect. "I just don't think it will do any good. The only one who could ever out-stubborn Buffy was Angel. If he told her to get on with her life, she'd at least pretend to do it."  
  
"He may very well have written words to that effect in his journals. We only read a small portion of them, and nothing of an intimate nature."  
  
"Speak for yourself." Gunn nodded at Cordelia, who tossed her chin and studiously avoided Wesley's eyes.  
  
"I read what I needed to, so I could figure out what that sneaky vampire was pulling over on us all."  
  
Her air of righteous indignation was somewhat spoiled by the reminiscent smile that flitted across her face. Some day she wanted the right man to be writing very similar words to her...minus, of course, all words about sacrifice in the name of duty. And blood, definitely no talk of blood. And written on much more expensive paper, as befitted a wealthy industrialist who spent his spare time producing motion pictures.  
  
Wesley glanced up the stairs again, still anxiously waiting for the Slayer to appear. "You don't think there's anything in the journals likely to make things worse, do you? She's somewhat on the ragged edge, as you say. I don't know if she could handle anything too shocking."  
  
Memories suddenly assailed Cordelia; memories both her own and those given to her by another.  
  
"Oh wow, we could be in big trouble," she breathed. As her partners looked at her, she shrank back against the stairs. "I don't know if there's anything in there about...well, something Angel did without telling Buffy. But if there is, it's going to bring up more 'what ifs' than I think she could deal with right now."  
  
"What..." Wesley began, only to be cut off both figuratively and literally by Cordelia's hand waving dangerously close to his throat.  
  
"What doesn't matter," she said firmly. "If he told her, then I'll tell you, but if he didn't want her to know...the trouble is, he may have forgotten to take out the pages. I mean he seemed pretty sure he was going to die, but I don't think he went back over the old stuff to make it ready for publication. He could have missed something."  
  
"So we just wait to see if she comes screaming down the stairs, and then you'll know if you can tell us?" It sounded rather impractical to Gunn.  
  
"No, we need a better plan than wait and see." She snapped her fingers. "A séance, that's what we'll do. We'll call Angel back, and he can explain stuff to her better and make sure she doesn't do anything stupid and..."  
  
"No." Wesley's tone left no room for discussion. "Not this time, Cordelia. No grand plans to save the day and make everyone all better. Angel is at rest now, after a very long journey. I won't let you disturb him, even for Buffy. We will take care of her now, as he would have wished. Let him be."  
  
"But how can he rest in peace if she's in pieces?"  
  
Cordelia and Wesley shared a surprised glance, but neither had an easy answer to Gunn's question.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy wandered aimlessly around Angel's room, picking up objects he had touched and then carefully replacing them when she couldn't find the sensation she was looking for. She couldn't put it into words, but she craved something that still felt like him, something that had the imprint of his soul, so that she could feel his presence once more.  
  
Once more. How many times had she breathed those words, knowing they were a lie? She didn't want "once mores" with Angel; she wanted always. Forever, that was the point, wasn't it? And now the point was swept away in a series of random disasters destined to define "forever" as the time she spent without him.  
  
It was easy to blame Darla, human Darla, reluctant owner of a twisted but still human soul Darla, for the events that conspired to rob Angel of his future. For two and a half centuries she had maintained a stranglehold on Angel's soul, and her actions had cost him life not once but twice.  
  
But blaming Darla was not enough; it was too easy. She wanted to blame Cordelia, or Wesley, or Gunn, for trying such an incredibly brave and stupid act. She wanted to blame Angel for taking so much on himself and not trusting her with the truth until it was too late. She wanted to blame Doyle for not fixing their mistakes, and Whistler for precipitating the whole tragedy by introducing Angel to her life.  
  
She wanted to blame herself for not holding on tight enough, for not believing hard enough in their future, for letting anyone tell her that her destiny and his were not as one.  
  
And yet when all blame was properly apportioned...Angel was still dead.  
  
The journals called to her from the bed, but she resisted the urge to re- submerge herself. Reading his thoughts, hearing his voice as he read them to her, was a cruel reminder that on a certain page, on a certain day, the thoughts ceased. She tried to tell herself that guilt and pain also ceased at that point in time, but she could not feel that truth within her heart.  
  
He must be so lost and lonely now, she thought, facing the ghosts of his past without the companions of his present. All those who had gone before knew him as a reckless young man, or a vicious killer. They didn't know the devastating sweetness of the man he had become, the unwavering loyalty he gave his friends, the absolute devotion he gifted to Buffy as her one true lover.  
  
They couldn't see the fear of rejection lurking behind his sad dark eyes, or the shy attempts at humor in his half-quirked lips.  
  
Cordelia said he'd been happy in LA, at least before Darla came. He reached out to people, and was learning not to pull away when they reached back. He was making friends, and finally beginning to see at least a fraction of his worth in the grand scheme of things. Cordelia told her this to give her a measure of peace, and in a way it did, but it also made her angry. All the things she'd hoped to give him, he was finding on his own.  
  
Until a random series of disasters cut short all learning, condemning him to solitude once more.  
  
With a low moan, she crawled onto the bed, clutching at armfuls of the journals. They ended too soon, but they were the closest she would ever come to touching his soul just once more.  
  
* * * * *  
  
He'd been watching her for hours. She was here, in his world, and he couldn't get over the sight of it. She had never been here before, and when he bought the hotel he'd had no true expectation she ever would. Yet somehow she belonged. It was old and she was young; it was defiantly avant- garde and she was desperately seeking the status quo, yet they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.  
  
Much as she and he did, Angel realized. Few people on earth were as apparently different as he and Buffy. But from the beginning they had seen beneath the shells to each other's true self and recognized a missing piece. They became one, against all odds and advice. And even when he had given up and walked away, believing their love to be her destruction, he could not break the bond that held their souls together. Even death was inadequate to the challenge; he knew that now.  
  
She was crying now, clawing at his heart with the great slow crystals of water that swept down her cheeks and onto his pillow. She lay curled up on his bed like a child, his journals piled around her, surrounding her like a fortress. One by one she picked them up, read a few pages and moved on to the next one. He didn't know if she was reading the same pages over and over, or just taking random peeks at his life without her. As though he'd ever had a real life without her. It had always been about her, since the first moment he saw her.  
  
One entry must have touched her more than others; she pressed the leather- bound book to her lips, blurring the words with her tears. Why did he write those damn things? Stupid Angel, always thinking he could fix things that he simply never should have broken. What good did it do, what purpose was served to unburden his heart to her and then not be there when she was forced to accept the "gift?"  
  
"Buffy, please don't cry," Angel whispered, watching his beloved weep over useless words written in shameful self-indulgence. "I'm okay, but only if you are. That's the only way to help me now."  
  
She didn't hear him; he knew that she couldn't. He wasn't even a shadow on the wall or a shimmer in the air. He was nothingness now, as he had always felt without her. No touch, no sound could reach her, unless he willed it so, and as much as he wanted to do just that, it wasn't fair. He knew he needed to let go; she must be free to lead her own life, hopefully a long and happy one, before they could be together again. But how was he supposed to walk away from her like this, knowing how long the separation could be, and how much she must endure alone until they would be together again?  
  
"I thought we could do this. We've done it before."  
  
Against his will, his mind flashed back to all the times he'd walked away, or let her leave. It had torn his heart out every time, but he'd done it and believed it right. What was so different now?  
  
"And when you think about it, what's 50 or 60 years apart when it took me almost two-hundred-and fifty to find you in the first place?"  
  
Twenty-six wasted years of life, one hundred and forty-odd years of chaos and destruction, and nearly one hundred years of bitter regret. They had literally flown by, in comparison to the next 50 or 60 he would be counting by hour, by minute, until he would see her again.  
  
"But now it's time and I can't go."  
  
Doyle had told him he wouldn't have much time; he wasn't even supposed to be here. She needed reality now, a future, not ghosts and promises of eternal rewards. She was alive, and he was even less so than he'd been the night they met. If he couldn't give her the kind of life she deserved then, how could he hope to serve her happiness now?  
  
And yet he could not tear himself away.  
  
Angel watched over Buffy as she read, and as she cried, and, eventually, as she drifted off to a troubled sleep. Deaf to his pain and lost in her own, she shifted restlessly on his bed as memories assailed her. So many memories, and yet never enough; they had a right to more.  
  
"I tried to tell the Powers that I could help you. I wouldn't get in the way; you wouldn't even see me." Just like old times, he'd thought to himself when he proposed the scheme. "They didn't buy it. Neither did I, actually. I'm not too good at staying away from you."  
  
Even now he could feel the pull of her presence. He had no real form or substance, just shifting patterns of emotional energy. His arms could never truly embrace her again, his lips would trace kisses more illusion than impression, but he could feel her strength and her beauty and her pain drawing him towards her as though nothing between them had ever changed.  
  
Maybe nothing had. She was, as always, just beyond his reach.  
  
"I can't stay here; I know that." He paused, trying to force himself to accept the inevitable. "And I can't help. You'll have to help yourself."  
  
Buffy tossed her head and twisted her small form on the comforter, trying to escape the demons that pursued her even in her sleep. Angel; where was Angel to come to her aid? Why wasn't he by her side, as he'd once promised to always be?  
  
"But it never gets any easier to let you go."  
  
Angel sighed; his emotions so strongly charged that his phantom breath stirred the curtains over the window. He was alone with the woman he loved, quite literally, beyond life. It was a moment meant for starlight and roses and sweetly sobbing violins. In his dreams, he would sweep her up in his arms, holding her tightly against the heart that beat only for her favor. In his dreams, no power on earth would tear her from those arms, that heart, again.  
  
In reality, he could only stand in silent witness to her dreams.  
  
How many times had he done just the same thing back in her house on Revello Drive? How many nights did he spend watching shadows chase across her face, reveling in every smile, worrying over every wrinkling of her smooth brow? He had learned every nuance of expression, delighting in the revelation of each heretofore unseen emotion, because it gave him a new window into her soul.  
  
And now, for the first time, he was afraid to look into that soul. He couldn't bear to see the scars he had inflicted over the years, or the freshly opened wounds his death had wrought. He loved her and she him, and that was supposed to offer some shelter from the darkness. Instead it had brought them closer to the abyss than anyone should dare to go.  
  
She made a small sound, somewhere between a moan and a cry. He immediately moved closer, crouching next to the bed, just an arm's length away from her. He could see the tearstains plainly now, each one striking him low in his belly. His fault; all his fault. Guided by instinct, he quickly reached out to caress her tousled golden hair...and saw his hand disappear against her tanned skin.  
  
Abruptly he pulled his hand back. Doyle warned him about this; it was part of the reason he was supposed to be staying away from Buffy. The urge to assume a more solid form was natural, and so very strong, but it was selfish and in the end it could hurt her more than help. He had already done her so much damage.  
  
No. Doyle was wrong. He only wanted to comfort her and in her current unconscious state he would seem, at best, a dream. She would never know he was truly with her. It was safe; it must be.  
  
Angel focused all his concentration on his hand, watching as it slowly assumed a wavering solidity, sufficient for his purpose if not completely satisfying. Once again he reached out and ran his hand lightly down her upturned cheek.  
  
"I love you, Buffy," he whispered, "and one day we will be together. It's going to take a little time, so you'll have to be patient for me, sweetheart." A slight smile graced his lips. "Just try, okay? Someday, love, it will happen, and then no one will ever keep us apart again. Not even me."  
  
He meant to vanish immediately; he truly did. But her face was still so troubled, and it had been so long since he had been this close to her. He just wanted to ease her pain, and thereby ease his own. He concentrated on his head this time, and when he felt air brushing his cheek he knew he had at least partially succeeded. Leaning over Buffy again, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.  
  
An instant later he felt her lips moving against his own as her eyelashes fluttered open.  
  
"Angel?" she murmured sleepily. "Is it really you?"  
  
-To Be Continued- 


	5. Chapter 4

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 4  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
& PJ  
  
Angel froze as Buffy reached out to him, her hand curling up around his neck.  
  
He wasn't supposed to be here, and she certainly wasn't supposed to know he was here. To wake and find him hovering over her in all his ectoplasmic splendor would do her untold damage. Inwardly he cursed himself. As usual, his best efforts to help the love of his life would only end up wounding her further.  
  
Her hand began to slide down his back as her eyes opened further. She was still half-asleep, rather more than half actually, but in a moment her fingers would leave his temporarily corporeal neck and discover nothingness. It was a sensation sure to awaken the soundest sleeper.  
  
He slipped out from under her arm, shifting the focus of his concentration to his hand once again. As she uttered a quiet cry of distress at his abandonment, he laid a cool finger to her lips.  
  
"Shsh, sweetheart. Go back to sleep," he whispered. Quickly Angel brushed his hand over her forehead and down the bridge of her nose. As expected, her eyelids instinctively closed in self-preservation, and willpower ceded the struggle to gravity.  
  
"Stay with me," she mumbled, reaching up to clasp his hand and pull it to her cheek.  
  
Angel closed his eyes, trying to remember the feel of her skin, the warmth and the scent of it. Perhaps in heaven one might touch and smell and taste again, but in this twilight corner of the world, it was more memory than actual sensation.  
  
Even that was enough to tear at his heart.  
  
"Sleep," he repeated softly, in command and prayer. "Sweet dreams."  
  
"You," she promised with a drowsy smile. She sighed deeply as memories of happier days, and dreams of those destined never to be, claimed her. A few moments later, her deep breathing told Angel she was safely ignorant of his presence.  
  
Angel vanished, and all was silence once again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy awoke slowly. She was exhausted, much more so than she could ever remember being, and she didn't know why. She'd been having a nightmare earlier, nothing new there. Angel dead, forever lost...it was a familiar theme. But when she woke up, finding him safe and sound by her side, she realized it must have been just a bad dream. All was peaceful after that, and yet she was still so very tired.  
  
Her eyelids flickered, stubbornly fighting the voice inside of her that commanded consciousness. In those fleeting moments when the outside world telegraphed images to her brain, she realized she was staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. She blinked more vigorously now and forced her eyes to stay open longer.  
  
Still unfamiliar, but she was getting the feeling she should recognize it. It was a very bad feeling.  
  
She cautiously turned her head, examining more of the room. It was a bedroom, she realized, which made sense since she was lying on a bed. Dark colors. Heavy curtains blocking the windows.  
  
It hit her in a wave, striking low and sweeping her away in the undertow. This was Angel's room, and she was here because he was not. Would never be again.  
  
She sat up quickly, pulling her knees up to her chest as a shield. One arm wrapped securely around her legs to hold the armor in place while her other hand curled into a fist. A low moan was beginning in the back of her throat, threatening to claw its way to open air as a scream. She fought it back savagely, thrusting the fist in her mouth to smother it unborn.  
  
Not now, and not here. She would not give in.  
  
Surrounded by his journals, and the scent from the sheets and the blanket, left in darkened solitude by well-meaning friends, she desired nothing more than to crawl beneath the covers and wait until it was time for her to join him again. A noise from downstairs reminded her of why she could not.  
  
Cordelia, Wesley and Gunn were down in the lobby, waiting for her. They were not the "faceless masses" Angel spoke of in his journals; they were his friends, people he treasured. People he gave up his life to protect.  
  
Now they were her responsibility.  
  
She knew they only wanted to help. They were waiting for the tears and the endless reminiscences and the multitude of regrets; they even expected these from her. They were waiting to comfort her and suffer with her and heal with her.  
  
But she was the Slayer. Comfort was not in her forecast, suffering was what she was supposed to protect others from, and her own healing was irrelevant in the grand scheme of the universe.  
  
And in the end, whatever they expected of her, deep down they depended upon her to be strong. The world, unmindful of her loss, depended on that as well. She would be strong because there was no other choice. Sacrifice for the greater good was part of the Slayer Tour package, and she was signed up for the full ride.  
  
Slowly she crawled off the bed, abandoning the stolen moments of solitude. She had people who loved her and needed her. She had people who didn't even know her, but needed her anyway. She had a sacred duty to perform, day in and day out. She had a purpose in life and the ability to carry it out.  
  
And if she lacked an active interest in the outcome of her actions or her life, it need not slow her progress. Caring was a luxury reserved for those left with something yet to lose. Duty was an equal opportunity employer.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Okay, I'm going up there." Cordelia slammed her coffee cup down on the end table, sloshing coffee on the glass top. She felt the cool liquid splash against her hand as it went over the side, but it barely registered in her overwrought nervous system.  
  
"Yes, perhaps now would be a good time..." Wesley's voice trailed off as he looked up the stairs. The Slayer, and he could think of her in no other terms at the moment, was descending.  
  
She moved steadily and without hurry, gracefully trailing her hand along the banister. Her eyes were swollen and red, but calm within, and somehow remote. She did not smile, but she was not visibly upset either. She was cool and collected...but frighteningly disconnected from the others surrounding her.  
  
She was a small blonde statue, made flesh but not blood.  
  
"Buffy? Are you...how are you?" Cordelia hurried over to take Buffy by the arm and guide her to a chair. "You still look kind of, umm, tired. I think you need to sit down for a few minutes. Then we can talk, when you're rested."  
  
The Slayer submitted docilely to the mothering, but her polite behavior unnerved Cordelia more than it soothed her. Nothing good ever came from a quiet Buffy. Cordelia sat down on the sofa and drew a deep breath, calling on all of her acting skills to project perky and uplifting vibes.  
  
"Okay, you sit right down and Wesley is going to get you a nice cup of tea. Won't that be nice? A little caffeine, a lot of sugar and the whole world is a brighter place, right Wesley?" She looked sharply at Buffy's former Watcher, hoping for assistance, but he was too busy staring at Buffy.  
  
"Wesley," she prodded him. "Tea. Now. Here."  
  
"Tea, yes, that would be just the thing. I'll just go, umm, make some, shall I?" Wesley cravenly fled from the room, curiously disturbed by Buffy's unnatural stillness.  
  
"So, you were certainly upstairs for a long time. Did you get any sleep at all? Because you don't seem to have your usual case of pillow-head going, so either you were too tired to move or you actually remembered to bring a comb with you." She glanced back at the hallway that led to the kitchen, hoping Wesley would miraculously appear to help her out. Miracles being in short supply that day she was forced to carry on alone. "Umm, did you do any exploring while you were up there? It's a really big hotel. Never five-star or anything good like that, but it used to have its own demon, so I guess you would have felt right at home. Not that you need demons to feel at home or anything but..."  
  
Buffy was oblivious to Cordelia's nervous chatter. Her attention was focused on the lobby; carefully noting details she had missed in her earlier passes through the room. The walls were chill stone, intricately carved to draw one's attention, yet ultimately unyielding. As for the decorating scheme, the only terms she could think of to describe it was "old," but it seemed to flow together naturally. The spaciousness was typically Angel, providing ample room for retreat to a man who never walked away from a necessary fight or responsibility.  
  
If he had been here beside her, she would have found it beautiful, but now...it was cold and barren and hollow, lacking the man who gave it purpose and a second chance.  
  
It was her home.  
  
"Buffy, do you want us to...Buffy. Earth to Buffy." Cordelia's voice was a little sharper than she'd intended, but she was getting seriously unsettled sitting next to a person who wasn't even in her own body.  
  
Buffy blinked and turned her head slowly to meet Cordelia's eyes.  
  
"What?"  
  
Cordelia waited for more, for some scathing Buffy-like comment, for a sharp look or tone, but there was only a blank wall.  
  
"Do you want us to call someone? Maybe Giles, or Willow?" Cordelia spoke very slowly, torn between her urge to blurt out the question before she lost Buffy's attention again, and the certainty that the Slayer would only understand the simplest phrases and concepts at this point in time. "They could come get you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
This one was a stumper for Cordelia. She glanced helplessly from Gunn, who was perched on the checkout desk, to Wesley, just returning with a pot of tea and several cups.  
  
"Sorry that took so long, but here we are. Tea all nice and fresh from the microwave. Not quite the same as in a kettle on the burner, but in the interests of speed...what's wrong?" Wesley stopped halfway through the lobby and his nervous chatter, warned by Cordelia's face that something was again awry.  
  
"I was, umm, just asking Buffy about someone coming to get her and..."  
  
"And I said why."  
  
Wesley gulped. She was honestly, if only mildly, curious.  
  
"Okay, well we're getting complete sentences now. Shall we try for multiple syllables?" Cordelia attempted a bright smile. "What do you mean why? You have to go home, Buffy. I mean, you don't have to leave right now; it's a hotel. We have room. But sooner or later..."  
  
"Why would you want to hang with us anyway? We're not your family." Gunn jumped off the counter and sauntered over to the sofa, resting his elbows on the back as he leaned over it beside Cordelia.  
  
"Yeah, I kind of thought that maybe you'd rather have your mom and Giles and Willow around to talk to and...you know." Cordelia gestured wildly in frustration, as though trying to physically pull the right argument from the air. "Even that useless Xander Harris might seem kind of homey right now."  
  
"This was Angel's home."  
  
Cordelia sighed heavily. "Got my wish, didn't I? Angel is definitely a two-syllable word. But we're still having trouble grasping the basics. You already have a home."  
  
"You are," Wesley said firmly, "welcome, of course, to stay with us as long as you wish." He waved his hand to display the lobby. "Cordelia is quite correct; there is more than enough room for a guest. But none of actually live here. We could stay with you if you'd like...but I really think you need your family around you now."  
  
"Besides, I think Rebou.ow, umm, ouch." Cordelia held up her thumb, feigning surprise. "My thumb, it hurts. Hangnail. What I wouldn't give for a decent manicure." Her deep sigh was only partially for effect. She was immensely relieved at her own quick thinking; clever lie concocted, severe disaster averted. "Anyway, what I was trying to say when the pain distracted me was that you have a boyfriend. Riley, right? Isn't it going to be the teensiest bit hard to explain hanging out in your ex's home, especially now that the ex is ex to the nth?"  
  
"He left."  
  
"And again with the 'See Spot Run' talk." Cordelia threw up her hands and sank back against the sofa cushions.  
  
Buffy smiled faintly; as much as she had changed, Cordy was still Cordy at heart. "He left on a mission with his old Army group, but he's not coming back. We broke up."  
  
"I'm sorry, Buffy." Wesley finally set the teapot down and began to pour her a cup. "You've been through more loss than anyone should have to endure, especially at so young an age."  
  
"It's okay, Wes. Everyone at home seemed to think it was part of this great tragic pattern in my life but..." she focused inward, trying to recall the exact curve of Riley's jaw, the precise shade of blue in his eyes. It was no use; those details had so quickly receded into the mist that she was unsure they were ever fixed points in her memory. "His leaving really doesn't seem that important right now," she finished quietly.  
  
"No, I should think not."  
  
"So he's not an issue anymore, but there's still your mom. You said she was sick," Cordelia prodded.  
  
Sick, yes, her mother had been sick. For months the thought Joyce dying had kept Buffy in a state of perpetual fear. But after reading some of Angel's journal entries, ones she was sure he never intended her to see, she was wondering if she ever even knew the mother she was so afraid of losing.  
  
"Mom is fine now," she answered firmly, her lips tightening to hold in all the other adjectives she wished to use to describe her mother. "She can take care of herself and Dawn."  
  
Dawn. She had to protect Dawn too.  
  
"Or Dawn can come here," she quickly added. "You said you have room, and she doesn't take up much. No more than your average 14-year-old pack rat." She tried to force her cold lips into a smile, not realizing how much the effort behind it showed.  
  
"Who's Dawn?" Cordelia and Gunn asked simultaneously.  
  
"You don't know?"  
  
Buffy was stunned, and strangely hurt, that the monks who did such a thorough job of insinuating Dawn into her life had left the LA portion out of the loop. Who were they to determine who mattered enough to deceive?  
  
"Umm, no, drawing a blank." Cordelia shrugged. "And yes there is room, but once again I point out that you have a family and a home and classes and...oh, what the hell." She threw up her hands. "I'm trying to do what Angel would have done, minus the ass-kicking back to Sunnydale part because he was a little better at that than I am. But hey, if you want to stay, the more the moroser."  
  
"Then it's settled."  
  
"Nothing is settled," Wesley protested. "It isn't that we don't want you, but I feel the need to ask why. What earthly, or even unearthly purpose will it serve for you to turn the hotel into your refuge? He isn't here, Buffy. It's just a building; four walls and a mortgage surrounding piles of empty rooms."  
  
"I'm needed here. The hellmouth is closed, Dawn would probably be safer here, and any demons who cross the Sunnydale town line can be fought off by Team Slayer." She looked from one face to another, recalling Angel's descriptions of their courage, their unwavering solidarity, their dedication to 'the good fight.' "But I've been reading Angel's journals. I know what you've been up against here. He's not...he's not here to fight with you, and that means it's my responsibility. I think this is where I'm supposed to be fighting now."  
  
"No, you want to hang around here and be the 'widow of the owner,' that's all." Gunn stood up straight and came around to the front of the sofa to face Buffy. "He wouldn't want you to stay. That alone should send you packing, if you actually loved him as much as these two have been trying to tell me."  
  
"And thank you Dr. Freud," Cordelia snapped. "Gee, did you remember to turn on the gas oven for her too?"  
  
"She's hiding," Gunn protested. "Just one push away from sailing down the River Denial."  
  
He leaned over, so that he was almost nose-to-nose with the Slayer. Cordelia reflexively reached out to save him from himself, but an instant later she changed her mind and let her hand drop to her side. Let him learn the hard way.  
  
Gunn looked Buffy straight in the eye. The blankness he encountered there was frightening, but he held fast to goal. He owed Angel at least that much.  
  
"I have been where you are," he said slowly. "Maybe not the exact same place, but in a real close part of town. You're looking to stay here so you can pretend that any second he's going to come walking through that door and say it's all big mistake. If you go home, you're admitting this part is over, for him and for you." He drew a deep breath, remembering the first few days after Alanna's death. "But he isn't coming back," he continued steadily. "It doesn't matter how long you play make-believe; all that's left of Angel could fit inside your compact, and that's never going to change."  
  
Her hands clenched reflexively into fists, but only for an instant. A strange sense of detachment swept over her. No words, no actions could take more from her than she had already lost. All she had left was her duty, to Angel and so by extension to the three people in this room. She would not hurt them, or allow others to do it for her.  
  
Slowly, silently she rose, forcing Gunn to make way.  
  
"I will go, and do, what I choose to do. I will decide what is right for me, and I will decide where I am needed most." Steadily she drove him back, step by step regaining both her ground and her footing. " And I will probably save your ass more time than you really deserve, but that's what I do, so count yourself lucky."  
  
After all, she reflected bitterly, wasn't that why the Powers didn't save Angel? He was no longer needed because she was here to carry on for him.  
  
"Hey, we don't need you to rescue us, girl. Angel bailed on us weeks ago and we've been doing just fine." Gunn stopped his retreat, crossing his arms as he waited for her next move.  
  
"Buffy, I'm afraid there is one other factor you must consider. When I was in the kitchen, I called Giles." Wesley looked apologetic as he stepped between she and Gunn. Gunn backed up a few paces, never realizing the imminent danger from which he was being rescued.  
  
Her voice cracked like a whip. "You had no right."  
  
"I was concerned about you, and I thought he would best be able to help you now," he explained, bravely standing his ground. "As it turned out, I didn't even get a chance to tell him. He kept nattering on about some creature you've been fighting, I believe he said her name was Glory."  
  
"What did she do? Is everyone okay?" The ice was gone, replaced by stark fear.  
  
"Everyone is fine, and apparently Giles has good news, of a sort. He's discovered what she is, and thinks they have a way to defeat her. He wants you back in Sunnydale immediately."  
  
Cordelia frowned and took a few steps forward to take Buffy's arm. "Buffy, I don't think it's such a good idea for you to be going back into the fight so soon. You need a little down time." She looked quickly to Wesley. "You did say this Glory chick hadn't actually done anything, right?"  
  
"Correct."  
  
"Then this is more of a preventive measure, like flossing."  
  
"She has to be stopped," Buffy said dully. "She's killed a lot of people, and she wants to kill..." she closed her eyes for a moment, picturing her sister as she had seen her last night. God, could it really have been only last night? "She wants to kill a whole lot more," she continued evasively. "I have to go."  
  
Duty first and duty always, owed to both Dawn and the hellmouth. Even with Angel, she was not allowed to be a woman first and a slayer second. Now that he was gone, she need not even try.  
  
"Can I drive you back, Buffy?" Wesley asked gently. "Or perhaps Cordelia and I could go with you, and Gunn could follow in An..." he paused to clear his throat, "in the convertible."  
  
"Yeah, we can tell Giles and everyone what happened so you don't have to do it," Cordelia chimed in.  
  
"Hey, I love road trips. And the Batmobile is a fine machine." Gunn smiled, hoping to make up for his earlier harsh words.  
  
Buffy glanced from one kind face to another. They were trying so hard to make this bearable for her, pushing aside their own grief to assuage hers. She hated to ask one last favor, but she knew she must.  
  
"It's okay; I can drive myself. I really need some time alone, before I have to face everyone. But before I go.I'm taking the journals with me, but I also want to take...where is he? His...ashes."  
  
She couldn't believe she said it. His ashes. All that was left of the strong arms that used to hold her so tightly, the hands that smoothed her hair so gently, the hollow of his shoulder created to fit her cheek. All that was left of the power and grace that defined his every action was...ashes.  
  
Wesley silently crossed over to the checkout desk and reached down behind it, retrieving a small carved wooden box. Carrying it carefully in both hands, he brought it to Buffy.  
  
She stretched out her hands to receive it, and almost broke when its slight weight pressed against her palms. So small a box to contain all that was Angel.  
  
"I'll bring the books out to your car," Gunn promised, moving swiftly to the stairs.  
  
"Buffy, about those journals..." Cordelia grimaced, trying to think of way to ask the question without tipping her hand. "Was there anything really.surprising in them? I mean, you know how Angel felt about you and all, so that stuff couldn't have been much of a shocker, but was there anything...else, that you really didn't see coming? That you didn't remember going?"  
  
Buffy looked at Cordelia silently for a moment. No one was supposed to know; it was a secret shared between dead men. And yet somehow, it was now a secret shared by the women who loved them.  
  
"There were a lot of things I wasn't expecting," Buffy answered slowly. "But I think I know what one you're talking about."  
  
Cordelia winced. She wasn't sure if it was a bad thing or a good thing that Buffy knew the truth. The only thing she did know for certain was that she was left in charge of damage control. "Is it anything you want to talk about? I know most of the details, or at least the details Angel was willing to share with Doyle. I'm willing to listen if you need to, you know, vent."  
  
A noise from the stairs made Buffy glance upwards. Somehow she expected it to be Angel, hurrying down to meet her, but it was only Gunn. From the looks on Cordelia's face, as well as Wesley's, she was not the only one tricked into a false hope.  
  
It wasn't him. It would never be him. Any words still unspoken between them would have to remain unspoken.  
  
"There's only one person I need to talk to about what I read, and that's not going to happen," Buffy answered, in what she hoped was a steady voice.  
  
"This is all my fault," Cordelia burst out, flinging her arms around Buffy. "I never should have suggested we use that damn scroll. We know Angel and spells don't mix."  
  
"You wanted to help him, all of you," Buffy said softly, patting Cordelia on the back before gently pushing her away. "He was in pain and you hurt for him. If you made any mistakes, it was because you loved him." She wanted to look away, but forced herself to stare straight into Cordelia's eyes. "Believe me, I did worse to him for the same reason."  
  
It didn't matter now that what Cordelia had done was stupid and reckless; she had acted out of love and concern, and a strange faith in the fairness of the universe. If she had asked Buffy first, the Slayer would have been set straight on that last score, but now it was too late. The damage was done, and they would all have to live with it.  
  
And so she would tell herself every night, as she stuffed a pillow in her mouth to silence the screams born in her sleep.  
  
* * * * *  
  
It was a long quiet drive back to Sunnydale. Buffy couldn't remember the details of last night's journey; fear had chased her every mile and its shadow looming over her was all that she could see.  
  
Tonight, as she drove through the early winter twilight, she saw everything with painful clarity. Every signpost she passed, every streetlamp or guardrail was one more reminder that she faced this journey alone.  
  
It had been over a year since she and Angel were together, and yet she had never put aside the habit of capsulizing her day for him. The hours apart were harder on him than on her, since his were spent in enforced solitude. During their time together, she had learned to mentally catalogue all the silly details that he so missed being a part of.  
  
Things like the deliberately confusing signposts and the misplaced streetlamps and the guardrails that jumped out at you from the side of the road and scraped your mother's car. All were details he would have treasured, even as he was trying not to laugh for the sake of her pride.  
  
Suddenly she realized she was in front of the Magic Box. Her friends were inside, ready and waiting to share their news, and hers. She knew they would be sympathetic, no matter how she said it, but she was so afraid it would all be directed at her. Would any of them see the true tragedy here, not hers but his? Would any of them sense the scope of future lost and potential wasted, or would they just see "poor Buffy;" queen of the unlucky at love?  
  
She needed their friendship and their loyalty, but not their pity.  
  
She didn't have to tell them anything yet, she decided abruptly. They didn't want to see Broken Buffy, the girl who lost her lover to the whims of Fate more often than most people brushed their teeth. They needed the Slayer, and the Slayer was just about all she had left to give.  
  
That was it, then. Time to do or die.  
  
Or if she was lucky, maybe both.  
  
* * * * *  
  
-To Be Continued- 


	6. Chapter 5

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 5  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
& PJ  
  
  
  
The Scoobies were gathered around the table when she walked into the Magic Box, as Buffy had known they would be. Willow was bent low over a book, showing something to Tara, while Xander was trying to impress Anya with his skill at tossing doughnut holes into his mouth. Giles paced rapidly from the table to the counter and back, trying to outrun Anya's lecture on the proper pricing of sale items, yet never quite making good on his escape.  
  
For them it was just another quiet evening spent with friends, trying to avert the apocalypse of the week.  
  
Buffy paused in the doorway, door still held open by her hand. She was fighting a wild urge to run, to head straight home and pull Angel's leather jacket from its hiding place in the back of her closet and bury herself in its scent. It not only reminded her of him, but of times that seemed so much simpler than now. Times when they at least had each other, even if the world was falling apart or blowing up at their feet.  
  
"Buffy, you're back."  
  
Too late to run now. She was always too late.  
  
"Yeah, I'm back Giles." She smiled faintly at him, touched by the genuine pleasure in his voice.  
  
"Wesley must have given you the message right away...and you must have broken several speed limits to get here." Giles' eyes narrowed as he approached her. "Did everything go all right in LA?" He tactfully refrained from asking her about Angel specifically; he wasn't sure how much the others knew.  
  
Buffy caught her breath; she wasn't ready for this. To lie would take more energy than she could muster, and the truth was out of the question until Glory had been dispatched.  
  
"I can't talk about LA right now, Giles," she said carefully. "When this is all done, I promise I'll tell you." She looked over at the table, seeing her friends' faces cloud with concern at her tone. "I'll tell all of you. But not yet."  
  
"Buffy, are you okay?" Willow half-rose from her chair, until Buffy motioned for her to stay where she was.  
  
"Buffy, if you need to talk...Glory has done nothing to place anyone in immediate danger. She can wait." Giles took a few steps closer to Buffy and reached out to touch her shoulder. She neatly sidestepped his gesture and moved to the center of the room, leaving a seriously apprehensive Watcher in her wake.  
  
"She's waited too long already," Buffy insisted. "I want this done. Now." The only empty seat she spied was next to Willow, but Buffy had to force herself to take it. Her best friend's concern was almost palpable; it radiated from her in waves that pummeled at Buffy. The Slayer's skin crawled with the effort to sit calmly amongst her friends, the sole bearer of knowledge that would forever taint her world, and by extension theirs.  
  
"Very well," Giles sighed. "But I do expect a better answer when Glory is defeated."  
  
"And just how do we do that?" Buffy turned her head to Willow, carefully composing her features to limit the number of warning flares she set off.  
  
"First we need to explain what Glory is, Buffy." Giles began to pace again, falling into standard lecture mode. "I finally received a call back from the Watcher's Council early this morning. Very early, I'm afraid. They take outrageous advantage of the time difference." He grimaced at the thought of his long lost night's sleep. "I would have told you about it when you called...but you were somewhat in a hurry."  
  
"And still am," she said impatiently. "What's the word?"  
  
"The word was 'no' at first, I'm afraid," he answered apologetically. After the past five years, he had become accustomed to interruptions. "They were trying to lay down conditions; they even wanted to subject you to some silly tests to make sure you were 'worthy' of the knowledge. I did as you asked, however, and reminded them that if they tied their Warrior's hands in the fight against evil, they were going to have to fight evil themselves." Giles chuckled, remembering the variety of outraged sputters that ensued in the wake of his 'suggestion'. "After a bit of hemming and hawing, not to mention out-and-out threatening, they 'ponied up,' as the saying goes."  
  
"Let the saying go wherever it wants, just tell me what kind of demon she is."  
  
"In point of fact, she's not precisely a demon," he said reluctantly.  
  
Off came the glasses and the cleaning ritual commenced. In Buffy's book, that was never a good sign. She sat up a little straighter and carefully removed the edge from her tone.  
  
"What is she, precisely?"  
  
"She's, well, she's a god."  
  
"Dess, goddess. The Council had it wrong." Tara chimed in helpfully. She shrank back in her seat when she suddenly found herself the focus of the room's attention, particularly that of an affronted former employee of the firm in question.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
That the 'firm' in question had fired him mattered little when the censure came from an outsider. Centuries of tradition and decades of service to the cause lent the simple phrase more than enough frost to send Tara frantically scrambling for an olive branch.  
  
"I don't mean they were wrong exactly," she said nervously, "well, except that they were in the, you know, strict sense of the word. The word 'god,' that is. I mean, if we're going to assign gender labels to a being who probably doesn't actually have sexual organs, shouldn't we be, umm, be staring at someone else for a change so I can find a rock to crawl under?"  
  
"Giles is just upset you pointed it out first, Tara. You know he likes to hold it over us that his English is better than ours because it's actually English English." Anya had not forgotten Giles' escape from her sales lecture, and she wasn't about to let him off easy for it.  
  
"Yes, well, in any event, she is apparently a deity, not a demon." Giles gave in with a sigh and slipped his glasses on again. "Of the Norse variety, if that makes any difference."  
  
"Which, according to Anya, it doesn't." Willow pushed the book in front of her over to Buffy, pointing to an illustration on the open page. "See, lightning bolts and balls of fire are pretty much standard issue, no matter what language the people are praying to you in."  
  
"And those prayers are apparently the key, again, if Anya is to be believed." Giles glanced pointedly at Xander until the younger man relinquished the chair next to Anya. The Watcher sat down with a scarcely disguised sigh of relief; it had been a long night.  
  
"Hey, what do you mean by that?" Anya snapped, glaring at her boss. "I happen to be very truthful. Usually you people are telling me I'm too truthful."  
  
"I believe the word we use is 'tactless'," Willow said softly.  
  
Giles hastened to pour oil on the waters he himself had troubled. "No one is questioning your veracity, Anya, merely...exhibiting pleased surprise at the range of your knowledge."  
  
Xander rested his hands on Anya's shoulders and gave them a slight squeeze.  
  
"That's my girl. Tell me she wasn't paying attention to someone other than herself for at least a few of those eleven centuries."  
  
"Can we get back to the point, please? How do I kill a god?" Buffy glanced at Tara, seeing the word forming on the witch's lips. "Dess," she finished firmly.  
  
Tara smiled in quiet satisfaction.  
  
"It all comes down to belief." Willow was also grateful to abandon the pointless argument. "Anya pointed out that gods, and goddesses..."  
  
"With all due respect to Tara's undeniably valid grammatical correction, as well as our current politically correct culture, may we please just refer to them as gods, in the interests of brevity?"  
  
Xander looked at Giles in amazement. "And that sentence would be a good example?"  
  
"Gods," Willow said with biting emphasis, "are created by man, not the other way around."  
  
Xander speedily backed away from the table, retreating to the counter as he waved his finger at his best friend. "Okay, I know we live in sunny Southern California and all, but I am so not standing next to you when and if we ever get another thunderstorm."  
  
"Oh there are forces of good and evil in the universe," Anya quickly added, "but humans are the ones who personified them and endowed them with separate characteristics and powers. In a very real sense, humans gave each god the strength that he possesses by believing that he possesses it."  
  
Xander's shaking finger transferred its wrath to Anya. "You too, missy. From here on out you carry your own umbrella."  
  
"So Glory exists because people believe she exists," Buffy mused slowly. "But then why does she need...this key she seems to need? And how does knowing all this help us?"  
  
This was good, she thought; she was focusing. She was getting the job done. Take that, PTB's.  
  
"We think she needs the key because it's pure energy," Tara said eagerly. "Once upon a time the gods,'' she threw a sidelong glance at Giles, "could depend on belief to generate all the power that they needed. But as other religions developed and people abandoned their old gods for new ones, or for none at all, the gods themselves began to die. But with the key, Glory wouldn't be dependent on followers, or sacrifices, for her energy."  
  
"And as for how it helps us, well, Tara likes to call it the "Tinkerbell Syndrome'." Willow beamed proudly at her lover.  
  
"Which, by the way, I totally objected to," Xander said quickly. "Everyone knows Tink was a fairy, not a god, or even a goddess." He seems to shrink down inside of himself when he felt the heat of all their eyes turn upon him. "Of course the fact that she's not real has a little something to do with it too," he finished weakly.  
  
"Glory is real enough, that's for sure." Buffy rubbed her forehead, trying to force some blood into her overtired brain. "So am I supposed to tie her believers' hands together so they can't clap as I kill her?"  
  
"No, that's what Willow and I will be doing. You just have to keep her busy." Tara smiled shyly, grateful to be an integral part of a Scooby plan at last.  
  
"Keep her busy? Oh, that should be fun. And how exactly are you and Willow going to be doing the bondage?" She heard a movement from the counter and raised her hand. "Not one word, Xander."  
  
Willow smirked at the shamefaced Xander. "Anya knew of a spell for disenchanting people from false gods and prophets. I guess they used to use it in the winter instead of the old burning heretics at the stake solution. You know, to save on firewood."  
  
The witch's smile faltered when she realized Buffy was not responding in kind. Taking a deep breath, Willow got back to the business at hand. "We've done some checking, and it should work just as well on demons."  
  
"It will, trust me. It's amazing what information you can pick up at a medieval party when you're allergic to mead. It's the honey, you see. Even as a demon it gave me hives." Anya's smile turned to a pout when she realized no one was interested in her unusual infirmity, not even Xander. As usual, her attempts to bond with the humans, this time through the sharing of weaknesses, had fallen short of the mark.  
  
"But does Glory count as a false god? She does have real powers; I've seen them. I mean, what is a false god? Did they skip registration or something?"  
  
It was amazing the effort it now took to come up with a flip comment that once would have rolled off her tongue.  
  
"Buffy, please." Giles shook his head at her. "You're obviously quite tired, but you must focus. This is important."  
  
She could feel the anger flare up inside of her, and then just as swiftly die out. She'd accomplished her goal, hadn't she? No one saw beneath the shell, and that was the way it would stay until, and unless, she was ready.  
  
"Buffy, just trust us. This will work." Willow patted Buffy's hand, mistakenly believing it was reassurance about Glory that Buffy needed. "You fight Glory, Tara and I will make with the mojo to weaken her and the guys will fight off any of Glory's followers that try to stop us. It can't miss."  
  
Buffy could think of a thousand ways it could miss, starting with Glory killing her before the spell was halfway out of her friend's mouth. But there didn't seem to be many options anymore, and she needed to eliminate Glory. Once the god...dess was dispatched, Dawn would be safe and Buffy would have nothing more to chain her to Sunnydale, or anywhere else in the world.  
  
Assuming Glory didn't solve her problems for her with one ball of fire from her well-manicured hands.  
  
"When?" Buffy sighed, hoping it would be soon.  
  
"We were thinking tomorrow, but perhaps you should get some more rest beforehand. As I said, there is no hurry now." Giles reached across the table to clasp Buffy's hand. This time, she did not pull away.  
  
"No, Giles. If you're ready, then I'm ready. I want this over with as soon as humanly, or inhumanly possible."  
  
"Life to lead, huh Buff?"  
  
Xander's genial smile was met with a pale reflection of the same.  
  
"Something like that, Xand."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Glory was not happy. And when Glory was not happy, the world trembled in fear.  
  
Or at least the world did if it knew what was good for it.  
  
The trouble started, as usual, with the stupid Slayer. Glory's incompetent mouth-breathing minions had reported seeing several robed figures leaving the Slayer's house carrying a small wooden crate, escorted by a vampire with a bad dye-job. The party made its way to the Watcher's shop, where they were greeted at the door by the Slayer herself. Everyone went inside for a few minutes, and then the Slayer, the vampire, the Watcher and the monks piled into two cars and drove down to a warehouse near the docks.  
  
It was at that point that Glory's annoying beeper had gone off, interrupting a much- needed full-body massage.  
  
So here she was, scoping out a crummy old warehouse, kinks only half-worked out of her body and a run in her stockings.  
  
The things a girl had to do to acquire dominion over the universe.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The warehouse was dark when Glory and her followers entered. She looked around for the Slayer, or the monks, or, most importantly the box that held The Key.  
  
Nothing. Only darkness and mildew smells and little scrabbling sounds that just had to be rats.  
  
Suddenly a light flared in the center of the warehouse. It was the Slayer, holding what looked like an electric tiki-torch in one hand and a sword in the other.  
  
"Oh please, spare me the drama," Glory snorted. "I'm here for my key. Hand it over and we can all be home in time to catch 'Sex and the City'."  
  
Buffy smiled slowly, lightly tapping her torch on the concrete floor. The lights came up all over the warehouse, revealing the remainder of the Slayer's followers ranged behind her.  
  
"I think you're going to be little pile of goddess bits long before show time, Glory."  
  
Buffy could feel the tension within her ease now that the moment was at hand. At last something she could lose herself in. When all else had forsaken her, there was always the battle to give her purpose.  
  
"Normally I'd say if you picked up your toys and went home, we could forget all the bloody stuff." Buffy took a step towards Glory. "But I'm in a really bad mood today, and I need someone to pound on. And, unfortunately for you, I've decided dusting vampires just won't scratch the itch." She flung the torch into the corner and hefted her sword.  
  
"Fine." Glory shrugged. "I haven't killed a Slayer in a while. Might as well keep my name out there; it's so hard to get your rep back once you lose it." She cocked her head and rested one hand on her hip. "But maybe you know more than I do about reputations? From the reading I've been doing about you, the whole vamp tramp thing, I'd say yes."  
  
"I think that's our cue," Willow said nervously, shooting a glance at the eerily still Slayer.  
  
After a frozen moment, spent picturing how many ways she could reduce Glory to a quivering heap of flashily-clad divinity in payment for her last comment, Buffy nodded her head to Willow.  
  
It was time.  
  
Willow and Tara began chanting, reading from the spell Anya wrote out for them. Giles motioned Spike and Xander to join him as they took up positions around Willow and Tara.  
  
Buffy swung the sword experimentally, testing its weight in her hand. "You know, I'm really sorry you have to die with a run in your stocking," she glanced pointedly at Glory's exposed shin, "but I hope you don't mind if we just move things along here. I have better things to do."  
  
Glory tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Give it your best, little girl. When this is over, and I have The Key, I'll make sure to write a nice note to your mother about how bravely you died. And I won't even tell her you were out past your bedtime."  
  
Minions advanced on Slayerettes, Glory advanced on Buffy and the battle commenced. Buffy fought hard with the sword, taking wide cuts at Glory, but even in high-heels the goddess moved too quickly to catch more than the tip of the blade. Glory used no weapons, other than her hands, but they seemed to be more than sufficient. Buffy was flung repeatedly against the walls, or dashed to the floor like a discarded china plate. Several times the Slayerettes were forced to retreat, not from the force of Glory's battling minions, but to avoid a flying Slayer.  
  
"Any time now Will," Buffy grunted, rising unsteadily to her feet after yet another up close and personal experience with the floor.  
  
"Hold fast, Buffy," Giles called to her as he beat back another of Glory's pet demons. "I think she's weakening."  
  
It didn't feel like it from Buffy's perspective. Each blow from the goddess' red lacquer-tipped hands radiated power, and inflicted pain. Perhaps Glory was growing weaker, but not so quickly as the Slayer.  
  
Buffy felt sail through the air one more time, striking her head against the concrete wall before slowly sliding down to the floor in a boneless lump. For a moment she saw only darkness, and she welcomed it. She couldn't do this anymore.  
  
Suddenly she felt a presence. There were no sounds, no sudden miraculous visions of light in front of her, just a shiver in her soul. A shiver that only one other presence could inspire.  
  
"Angel?" she called out as she shook her weary head to clear her vision.  
  
No Angel, only Glory coming at her with her own sword. Buffy threw herself to the side, narrowly escaping the blade. The Slayer scrambled to her feet, panting heavily, and circled round Glory. She needed a weapon, and she needed one fast. Out of the corner of her eye Buffy spied a length of pipe laying on the floor; an inelegant weapon, but handy. She ducked down to avoid another swing of the sword and grabbed the pipe as she rose.  
  
The first blow from the pipe should not have done much damage, but unaccountably Glory stumbled. Then she stumbled again.  
  
The goddess glanced wildly around the room for her followers, but they had abandoned the attack on the Scoobies and were all drifting towards the door.  
  
"Stop!" she cried out. "You are my people, I am your goddess. I am Glorificus and you are mine to command."  
  
The demons were obviously frightened by her tone, but it only made them move more quickly to the exit and safety.  
  
Glory stamped her foot, almost losing her balance as the weakened leg touched ground. "I said stop! I can't be a goddess without worshippers; it just doesn't work that way!"  
  
"That's kind of the point, Glory," Buffy said softly, casually swinging her pipe in the air. "They've been awakened and you're losing your power source. I won't give you The Key and you're not going to last long enough to find some other poor dumb souls to suck dry for their energy. You're through."  
  
Buffy began wielding the pipe in earnest now. Glory tried to fight her off with the sword, but eventually her nerveless hands could no longer grasp the pommel. When it clattered to the floor, Buffy stopped to pick it up.  
  
"You know, I'm not a real big fan of conventional weapons, but this has a nice feel to it," she commented, starting to slash the sword closer and closer to Glory. "And I think it will read much better in the mythology textbooks than you getting whacked by a lead pipe," the blade sang across Glory's right arm, "in the conservatory," and then it scored her left side, "by Miss Scarlett."  
  
And on towards what passed for Glory's heart, no longer defended by her wounded arms. Slowly, slowly, Buffy reminded herself. All the suffering the goddess had caused, all that stolen time spent trying to defeat her instead of being with...it all deserved a lengthy payback.  
  
"Buffy, I think the spell can take care of the rest," Giles called from behind her.  
  
"No," she replied with an icy calm. "You never know what evil things can come back if you don't kill them right the first time. I'm not taking any chances."  
  
She drove Glory back against a wall, the goddess stumbling as she retreated from the shining blade. Glory made one final abortive attempt to escape her fate, throwing herself forward and past Buffy. One last thrust of the sword, aimed at Glory's chest, pierced her side instead.  
  
The goddess sprawled on the ground, her body finally drained of all semblance of life. Buffy watched her steadily, waiting for signs of regeneration or resurrection, but there were none. Glory was just an empty shell lying motionless on the floor...until she collapsed into a pile of dust.  
  
A moment later a blast of wind shot up from under Glory's remains. The ashes were caught in a cyclone, swirling upward in a funnel cloud until the particles stretched from floor to ceiling. Then, as quickly as the wind rose, it died away and the ashes plummeted to earth in a column.  
  
Leaving a marble statue of Glory on the warehouse floor.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"I had no idea the collapse of her power base would create such an effect. It's really quite extraordinary," Giles murmured as he drew closer to the statue. "Don't you think so, Buffy?" He paused, and then looked around. "Buffy?"  
  
She was at the far end of the warehouse, wandering from one side to the other with her head tilted to the side as though listening for something. Giles hurried over to her, thinking perhaps she was hearing the sound of approaching demons, or possibly police cars.  
  
"Buffy, is there something wrong?"  
  
He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she shrugged off his hand and slipped out of his reach. She knew Giles meant well, but he could not help her now. Only one person could, and only if he was really here.  
  
"Angel?" she whispered.  
  
"Buffy, what on earth...is Angel here?" Giles looked around the cavernous warehouse for the vampire in question, but all he saw were Buffy's friends, and Spike. "I didn't see him during the battle. Did he slip away again without saying goodbye?"  
  
"Did who slip away again?" Xander asked as he joined Giles in Buffy- watching.  
  
"Buffy said she saw Angel here, but I saw no sign of him myself. Did you?"  
  
Xander shook his head, motioning the others to come join the discussion. "Nope, not so much as an over-gelled hair on his head. Anyone else see Rain on My Parade Man?"  
  
There was a universal chorus of 'no,' and then all were silent as they watched Buffy scour the warehouse for Angel. Finally Willow could no longer stand by and watch.  
  
"Buffy, he's not here," she called out. "No one else saw him; are you sure it was him?"  
  
"You wouldn't have seen him," Buffy answered absently.  
  
"Okay, Dead Boy is now the Invisible Man? Talk about your change of images."  
  
Buffy whirled around to glare at Xander. "Don't you ever call him that again Xander."  
  
Xander held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, didn't mean to strike a nerve or anything, but I've been calling him that for a couple of years now. Old habits die hard, kind of like old vampires." He smiled at his own joke, until he saw the frozen look on Buffy's face. "Hey, Buff, what is it?"  
  
She took one last, slow look around the warehouse.  
  
"He's gone," she said softly as she sank to her knees. "I thought I could feel him...I did feel him and I thought maybe he'd come back to me in some way...but he's really gone."  
  
"He's been gone for months, pet. Why the search mission now?" Spike strolled over closer to her, trying to project casual disinterest as he posed his question. Angel, he growled under his breath, always sodding Angel she went on about.  
  
"He's dead," she answered bleakly.  
  
She would not cry, she would not cry, she told herself fiercely. Later, alone, she could cry, but not now and not here.  
  
"Buffy, when?" Willow whispered. "Is that why you went to LA?"  
  
"Were you in...did you see him before it happened?" Giles wanted to take her in his arms immediately, but she seemed unbearably fragile, as though she might shatter at the slightest touch.  
  
Buffy shook her head, too spent to answer him in words. She had felt Angel; she was certain he had been here. Now, though, there was only emptiness.  
  
An instant later they were all surrounding her, reaching out hands to pull her up and draw her into the shelter of their loving arms. She accepted the hands up, and submitted to the embraces; she had no more fight left in her to drive them off.  
  
"Let's go home, Buffy," Giles suggested, gently guiding her toward the door.  
  
Home. The word gnawed at her, taunting her with images that could never take form or substance. Deep inside she wanted to weep for that lost reality, but all that emerged from her throat was a sharp laugh.  
  
Home. Without Angel. Now there was a joke.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	7. Chapter 6

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 6  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
& PJ  
  
"I still can't believe he's gone," Willow said softly. "It just seems so unreal. I mean I know he hasn't been here as in here for over a year, but he was always kind of still here, you know? And now he's not. Not ever." She clasped Tara's hand tightly in her own, overwhelmingly grateful for her blessings in the face of this new tragedy.  
  
"I realize denial is a customary human reaction to loss, but I don't think you're being very useful, Willow. Shouldn't you be saying something comforting?" Anya snuggled in closer to Xander on the sofa, resting her head on his shoulder just because she could.  
  
Xander was here. Xander was alive, and safe and here.  
  
Buffy spun on her heel, turning herself away from the sight of her friends and their lovers. "It doesn't matter what you say or how nicely you say it. Words can't change the past, or change my mind about the future. I'm going back to LA. Tomorrow."  
  
Giles watched warily. She had been completely silent on the ride back to her mother's house, despite the many questions leveled at her. Once they had set up camp on the sofas and chairs, however, she had begun her own personal marathon, circling the perimeter of the living room like a plane unable to land. With the pacing came a monotone recitation of the pervious day's events, leading up in painful detail to her return home to battle Glory.  
  
"Buffy, we have been over this several times," he said patiently. "I realize how difficult it must be for you right now, but you know running away won't solve anything."  
  
"And why would you want to leave anyway? This is the hellmouth; home sweet home." Xander didn't notice Buffy flinch at the last phrase, he was too busy expounding on the virtues of his hometown. "Vamp Vacationland; Demon Disney World. You can't leave; what would happen to the tourist trade?"  
  
He could feel the disapproval in the room when he made his futile attempt at humor; even Anya seemed to sense it was inappropriate. Xander desperately wanted to say something helpful or meaningful, but the words would not come. He coped with laughter, because being serious meant admitting the crisis was real and he was helpless.  
  
"All joking aside," Giles paused to glare at Xander, "your place is here. Not only are we all here to help you through your current.bereavement, but there is also the hellmouth to consider. Glory was only one of many threats, and however ably you handled her, there will be others." He was sympathetic to her pain, but he knew he had to be stern. As her friend, as well as her Watcher, he felt obliged to protect Buffy from her own rash impulses in her hour of grief.  
  
"Giles is right, sweetie." Joyce sat down in a chair in Buffy's flight path and patted her daughter's hand as she passed by. "You're just not thinking clearly right now, with...all that's happened. You belong here."  
  
Buffy abruptly veered from her course and crossed over to stare out the window at the dark street. "I belonged with Angel," she said bitterly, "but no one seemed to like that plan."  
  
"Honey..."  
  
Buffy wheeled around to face her mother, a part of her clamoring for battle, raging to inflict wounds rather than receive them. "I already tried it your way, Mom," she continued steadily over her mother's objection. "I let him go and I tried to be the perfect daughter instead, the perfect friend, the perfect girlfriend. Only being the perfect girlfriend got in the way of being the perfect friend, and being the perfect daughter got in the way of being the perfect girlfriend." She threw her hands up in the air. "Big surprise; Buffy blows it again."  
  
"Buffy, I know you've been through a lot the past few months, what with my illness and Riley leaving for his mission, but you can't just give up now, because of him." Joyce was able to hold back most of her disgust with the last word, but not all. "You've come so far from the girl who thought she needed that man in her life. Don't let him win."  
  
"He had a name, Mom."  
  
God how it hurt to say 'had.' Every time she forced herself to use the past tense it was like someone threw a gallon of ice water on a never-to-be- healed wound. She froze, and then she ached and then she prayed for the inevitable numbness to creep over her.  
  
"Everyone has a name, Buffy. I'm sure in two hundred and fifty years he had several. Did you ever know the real one?"  
  
"I know of a few I'd like to call you right now," Buffy muttered under her breath. Taking firm hold of her emotions, she continued in a louder and distinctly colder voice. "I know exactly what you thought of Angel, Mom, and how you made him feel about himself. I know better than you think I do. But your opinions have nothing to do with the man he really...was." She caught her breath; she would not cry over Angel in front of her mother of all people.  
  
"Buffy, please. Your mother is understandably upset by this evening's...activities with Glory, and concerned about the future." Giles glanced quickly at Dawn, who had remained huddled up at the end of the sofa since they had arrived. "We all are."  
  
"Well so am I," Buffy replied coolly, "but part of that future belongs to me, and I want some say in it. No, I take that back; I want all the say in it for a change." She spoke very slowly and clearly, wanting to leave no room for misunderstanding. "I am going to LA. I can transfer schools; I have a job and a place to live waiting for me. There's no reason to stay."  
  
"Well then hey, so long and thanks for the memories, Buff." Xander decided the time for joking was at last at an end. He joined Buffy at the window, laying his hand lightly on her arm and kneading it slightly. "Look, I know you're angry, and hurting, but we're here for you. We're always here for you, no matter what boy-toys pass through your life...and that so came out the wrong way."  
  
Xander quickly removed his hand from her arm and backed up a few paces when he saw the fury flash across Buffy's face. Somehow though, the stony gaze that replaced it was worse. He searched desperately for the right words to show his support.  
  
"I'm not trying to blow off what you felt for Angel, or how badly you must miss him. All I'm saying is that we can help you, if you let us. But Giles is right; running off to LA isn't going to help anything."  
  
"It won't bring Angel back is what Xander is trying to say," Anya translated in an attempt to be helpful. She jumped when Willow slapped her arm. "What? That is what she's thinking, and what he thinks she's thinking. I've been around a long time, and even though the heartbreak I saw was usually the kind that could have been avoided with a little more honest communication, and a less extra-curricular fornication, I still know how people react to pain. They want to wish it away."  
  
"I know I can't wish it away," Buffy said slowly. "But they need me there. He died trying to protect them, and me. The least I can do is make sure they stay safe."  
  
Xander shook his head. "So the hell with the rest of the world; let's save Cordy? That's not like you, Buffy."  
  
"Maybe not, but I don't think there's much about me worth keeping right now. So I'm going to shop around for a new look."  
  
The 2001 model Slayer: better, faster, stronger...or at least, she could hope, less vulnerable to pain. The tighter the circle she drew around herself, the less there was to protect, and ultimately to lose.  
  
Giles approached her slowly. "Buffy, may we speak privately? There are a few things we need to discuss if you are truly serious about this move."  
  
She looked at him silently for several minutes. She knew he would throw every argument in the book at her, and all of it would be for her own good. She had no doubt that Giles only wanted what was best for her, and ultimately he would respect her decision, unlike her mother. He would, however, pull out every stop before he gave in, unfortunately also just like her mother.  
  
He was not going to play fair.  
  
"Giles, I can't do this now." She shook her head sadly. "I'm not leaving until tomorrow afternoon, so if you want to take another whack at guilt- tripping me you have all night to think up the ways. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
He wanted to stop her, here and now. He wanted to reason with her, plead with her, or perhaps just comfort her until she saw the error of her ways. Instead Giles watched as the strongest Slayer the world had ever known dragged her weary body up the stairs one lonely step at a time.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Look Wes, I can't very well borrow my mom's car for this. So you can either drive here to get me or I'll take the bus and use the convertible next weekend to come back and get my stuff. My mind is made up; how about you?"  
  
Buffy turned her head from the phone when she felt a presence in her bedroom. Seeing it was only Giles, she motioned for him to wait and continued her conversation with Wesley.  
  
"So I'll see you in a few hours? Okay, I'll be waiting." She placed the phone on her nightstand and drew a deep breath. "Well, fight number one of the day is done, but I'm game for a new opponent." She looked up at Giles, a defiant gleam in her eye. "Give it your best shot, Watcher Man."  
  
Giles glanced around the bedroom, noting the piles of clothes heaped untidily in the open duffel bags, the toiletries jumbled together in a cardboard box, and the neatly assembled weapons in Buffy's slayer trunk.  
  
"So you're still determined to go." He didn't bother to pose it as a question; the answer was obvious.  
  
Buffy's tension eased fractionally, but she was still suspicious. Giles rarely gave up, and never easily.  
  
"Yeah, Wesley will be here in a few hours to get me." She resumed her packing, cramming her clothes into every available pocket of the duffel bags with little regard for the fabric's capacity to wrinkle. "And I suppose this is the last stand at the OK Corral? Time to persuade Buffy she's being selfish and careless and personally inviting the world to end because she's slacking off."  
  
"I wouldn't say slacking off," Giles said mildly, perching on a clothes- free corner of the bed. "You are going to Los Angeles to continue the battle, aren't you? And to protect some friends as well. That would hardly be called selfish."  
  
"Oh, a new tactic. Agree with the basket case to disarm her."  
  
"Are you a 'basket case'?" The tone was still gentle and non-committal, but the gaze he leveled at her could have penetrated steel.  
  
"I'm...tired," she admitted with a sigh. She walked past him to rearrange a few items in her trunk, conveniently placing her back to Giles as she crouched over the weapons. "But I know where I belong, and I know what I have to do when I get there. That's enough for now."  
  
"And later? When the first grief has passed and you suddenly realize you've given up home and family and friends to chase after a ghost?"  
  
She stood up slowly, still keeping her back to him. "Gloves off, huh? I knew you were being too calm and reasonable." She turned around quickly, striking first and repeatedly, before he had a chance for rebuttal. "I am not chasing ghosts; I am trying to find some reason to keep fighting. Because you see I keep fighting to protect everyone else's right to those things you mentioned. You know, the home, the family, the friends. Me, I don't worry too much about giving them up now, because what I don't give gets taken away anyway."  
  
"Buffy, you can't push us away because you're afraid of losing us," he protested.  
  
"It's not about you, any of you," she insisted. Welcome back anger; where have you been? "This is about what I need, just this once. Not what anyone else thinks I need, not what anyone tried to give me whether I want it or not. What I need," she repeated emphatically.  
  
"And that is?" Giles' tone was softer now; he could sense they were coming to the heart of the matter and he needed to tread softly from here out.  
  
She didn't want to tell him. He would think it sounded fantastical or foolish, because to any rational person it would. But reason had little place in her world, especially now. She only hoped Giles could rise above his logical mind.  
  
"Him." She threw up her hands. "I can't feel him anymore, Giles. I used to be able to feel him inside me, in this little part of my mind that I couldn't ignore no matter how hard I tried." She laughed sharply as she began to pitch cosmetics from her top dresser drawer into the nearest open box. "And I did try, Giles. You will never know how hard. But he was always there, the stubborn...he was always waiting for me, behind all the noise and the voices...and the sex...that I used to drown him out. And now he's gone and I feel so...empty." She slammed the dresser drawer shut and ran her hands threw her hair as she tried to focus on anything but the feeling she was describing.  
  
"Running away won't help that emptiness, Buffy. If it is memories you are searching for, you'll be more likely to find them here than in Los Angeles, but I don't think that it would be particularly wise to immerse yourself in them, regardless." Giles stood up and slowly approached her. "And I'm afraid that feeling of...shared consciousness, I suppose you would call it, will not be obtainable wherever you are. He is gone, Buffy, however much you want that not to be true. Our deeds live beyond us, but not the mind that controlled them."  
  
"But I felt him, last night." She dropped her hands to her side, holding her palms upward in entreaty. She had to make him understand. "Last night, when Glory threw me up against the wall that last time and I was too out of it to fight back for a minute, I felt him. That was what woke me up enough to see her coming at me with Excalibur."  
  
"I've lived long enough on a hellmouth not to discount any possibility," Giles admitted, "but I hardly see what..."  
  
"I felt him the other night, too," she continued over his objection. "I was in his room and I was sleeping and I know he was there with me. I even saw him." She paused for a moment. "Well, I'm not sure about the seeing part, because I could hardly keep my eyes open, but I know he was there."  
  
"In your dreams, quite literally," Giles said gently.  
  
"No! He was there; I know it. So I know I can find him again, some part of him at least, if I'm there at the hotel. He wants me to be there, taking care of everyone for him. I thought I couldn't do it, because of Glory, but she's history now. Literally."  
  
"She may not be the only after Dawn," he reminded her.  
  
"Keep your voice down," she snapped. She glared at him for a moment before she hurried over to close her door. "Do you think I haven't considered what would happen to her if I'm not here?" she continued as she leaned against the closed door. "I know she's my responsibility, Giles. I'm only leaving her here for a little while, and then I'll bring her to LA. No hellmouth equals at least twice the lifespan for your average person, so who knows what it can do for her."  
  
"And what about her true purpose? We know Glory saw her as some sort of life-sized protein bar, but this tells us nothing of why she was really placed in your custody. What is she the Key to?"  
  
"She is my sister," Buffy answered fiercely. "She was human when we got home last night, she was human when I went down to get some packing tape this morning, so as far as I'm concerned that's the way she's going to stay. Whatever she is the Key to is just going to have to stay locked."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Giles shook his head at the group assembled by the foot of the stairs as he hurried down to join them. "It's no use, I'm afraid," he called to them softly. "She's determined to go, and short of chaining her to the bed I can see no way to stop her."  
  
Spike raised his hand. "Well if it's chains you're lacking I can..." he glanced around, insulted by the disgusted looks he felt being leveled at him. "What? I was only trying to help," he sniffed.  
  
"Maybe it's for the best that Buffy leaves right now," Tara suggested. "I know we want her to stay because we think we can help her; because we're her friends. But maybe right now she needs to be with Angel's friends."  
  
She glanced from one guilty face to another.  
  
"We are...I mean we were Angel's friends," Willow said defensively. "Weren't we?"  
  
"Don't look at me." Spike shook his blond head vehemently. "I never liked the old boy, even when he didn't have a soul. We may have shared a few laughs over an open vein or two, but demons don't do that friendship thing, you know."  
  
"Well ex-demons do," Anya said loftily, "but I barely knew the man. I only met him once or twice." She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head as she looked back on the encounters. "He was quite good-looking, but he seemed far too intellectual for my taste." She beamed at Xander to show her appreciation of his differences from Angel, but her boyfriend did not appear flattered by the comparison.  
  
"There were some...personal issues that precluded friendship in my case." Giles looked away, realizing they would misunderstand the issues, but he had no intention of enlightening them.  
  
He could forgive Angel for Angelus' actions against he and Jenny, though forgetting was never an option. It was what Angel had knowingly done to Buffy that Giles found so hard to forgive. Images of Buffy in Angel's bed, and later in a hospital bed, still haunted Giles. Angel, not Angelus, had stolen his cherished child's innocence, in more ways than one, and then almost taken her life as well.  
  
For those sins forgiveness was a much higher mountain to climb.  
  
Xander threw up his hands. "Hey, we all know how I felt about the King of Pain. I still say Riley was a much better guy for her."  
  
"Oh that's constructive," Willow groaned. "Xander, he's not exactly an option right now, so I wouldn't bring that up to her if I were you."  
  
"I've hardly heard any of you mention Angel in all the time I've known you," Tara reluctantly pointed out. "Maybe Buffy needs to be with people who are grieving, not just...surprised."  
  
"I think it's more than surprise," Giles protested. "Still, you may be at least partially correct about the attraction Los Angeles now holds for her. As to the rest...well, I'm afraid she's searching for things she will never find."  
  
"I can't pretend to grieve for Angel, but I would do anything to stop the pain she's in right now. My poor baby; she's had such a rough few months." Joyce glanced anxiously up the stairs. "Maybe I should go talk to her again."  
  
"I wouldn't, Joyce. She has made up her mind and I think we need to respect her decision for now. I'm sure Wesley and Cordelia will keep us apprised of her...condition, and make us aware if she needs more than they can give. Beyond that...I'm afraid she is legally an adult and we have no right to keep her here, however much we might wish to."  
  
Joyce shook her head stubbornly. "No, I refuse to give up. But we need to really brainstorm before we say anything else to her. Why don't we all go have some hot chocolate in the kitchen and see what we can come up with."  
  
As Giles and the Scoobies trooped into the Summers' kitchen after Joyce, Dawn quietly slipped upstairs.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dawn slowly pushed open her sister's bedroom door, silently observing her older sister in a rare moment of inactivity.  
  
Her sister had been in a never-ending flurry of movement from the moment she got home the previous night. Long after Buffy retreated to her room Dawn could hear her sister pacing and moving things and exercising and making any other number of noises as she tried to keep herself awake. It almost seemed as if Buffy was afraid to sleep. Dawn had wanted to go to Buffy, to help in some way, but she was a little frightened of the cold perpetual motion machine her sister had suddenly become.  
  
The machine had finally stopped.  
  
Buffy was sitting cross-legged on the bed, in the middle of bags and boxes and piles of junk yet to be packed. The only thing that seemed to interest her, however, was the leather-bound book she was reading. She was gripping it tightly in one hand as she bit her lip and fought for control of her harsh breathing. With the other hand she laid claim to a small, carved wooden box in her lap, shielding, or perhaps clinging to it; Dawn couldn't be sure.  
  
"Buffy," she called hesitantly, "can I come in?"  
  
Buffy looked up, saw Dawn in the doorway and closed her eyes for just an instant. When she opened them, she gave a tiny nod as she put the book down on the bed beside her. "Yeah, come in."  
  
Dawn took a few hesitant steps into the room and then stopped, nervously twisting a strand of her long brown hair in her hands as she faced the sister she suddenly felt she never knew.  
  
"I just wanted to say...Tara reminded me that...that Angel could be really nice to me sometimes, and I...I'm really sorry he's dead." Fear moved swiftly across her features. "I mean that he's gone now. I shouldn't have said 'dead.' And I really shouldn't have said it again to apologize for saying it the first time, should I?"  
  
Buffy smiled slowly, but there was an indefinable wall that shadowed her eyes and prevented the smile from touching them. "It's okay, Dawn; you can say it. I won't explode or anything."  
  
It was with more than a little relief that Dawn came far enough into the room to sit on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Good, I was afraid I was going to be the one to push you over the edge, which is pretty much where they all think you're headed, if not already there. I meant what I said about Angel, though. Sometimes he was really nice to me, though a lot of the time it was like I kind of didn't exist once you came in the room, because you were pretty much all he could see." She picked at a loose thread on the comforter as she continued, not quite daring to meet Buffy's eyes. "I guess that was why I liked it when you started dating Riley. He was nuts about you and everything, but it was, I don't know, normal nuts. Not 'you are the light of my dark existence' nuts."  
  
Buffy reached out to stroke Dawn's long hair. "I'm glad you have some good memories of Angel, and it means a lot that you wanted to tell me you have them."  
  
Even if the memories weren't real, and even if Angel never shared them, it still made Buffy feel better that the monks had painted him kindly in Dawn's subconscious.  
  
The younger girl lifted her head to look deep into Buffy's hazel eyes, searching for an explanation to the sudden changes in her world. "Tara said you want to be with people who were Angel's friends, not just ones saying nice things about him to make you feel better."  
  
"Can't put much over on that witch, now can you?" Buffy asked dryly. "The others...I love them dearly, but they...tolerated him at best. A big part of the reason he left was because he thought he couldn't fit into the life that they all had, the kind people made him think I wanted." Her lips tightened at the memory of her mother's bewildered eyes the previous night. Joyce truly had no idea the nightmare she created with her meddling.  
  
"So if they liked him better, you would stay?"  
  
"It's not that simple, Dawn. I'm tired of fighting the demon of the week and having nothing to show for it but the world not ending. I mean it's great the world doesn't end, but I'd kind of like to know for sure that at least one person is better off with it not ending." She saw the blank look on Dawn's face and sighed with frustration. "I'm not explaining this very well, but I'm tired of being Big Picture Girl. I want to help one person, or maybe a few people, and be able to see that I helped them. As it is now, I kill one demon and another one takes its place before the body's cold. I stop Glory from...well, her mission was kind of complicated, but I put an end to it. Now Giles is saying she might not be the only one. For every two steps forward it's three steps back."  
  
"I'll miss you," Dawn said wistfully.  
  
Buffy impulsively hugged her. "You know, you can come with me," she whispered in Dawn's ear.  
  
Dawn pulled back. "You mean it?"  
  
"Of course. Why would you want to stay in Sunnydale anyway?"  
  
"Because it's home." Dawn shrugged; it was obvious to her.  
  
Buffy read deeper levels of meaning into the simple phrase. Whatever the Key was supposed to be, the being that was Dawn was a child still, with a child's need for stability, and protection. To uproot her was unthinkable.  
  
Almost as unthinkable as leaving her unprotected.  
  
"Dawn, please come with me," she quickly begged. "I know it's scary to think of leaving home and Mom...but please come with me."  
  
Dawn stood up slowly.  
  
"I'll miss you," she repeated solemnly as she backed out the door. A moment later the door closed behind her, trapping Buffy in her bedroom with her memories, and her responsibilities.  
  
Once again, the hellmouth had the last word.  
  
"No, you won't miss me at all," she said sadly, reaching for the portable phone with one hand as she began to unpack her bags with the other.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy waited patiently on the sofa for her 'family' to finish snack time. There was no hurry anymore; she had nowhere to go and nothing to do for the rest of her life but look after Dawn and the hellmouth.  
  
She could tell they were surprised to see her sitting there as they trooped in from the kitchen, but she left them no time to form questions. This was her show, from here on out.  
  
"I've decided to stay in Sunnydale." Position declared, reasons unnecessary to explain, at least as far as she was concerned.  
  
"Oh, honey, I'm so glad." Joyce hurried over to embrace her daughter, a gesture said daughter accepted with tolerable grace. "You belong here with all of us. We can take care of you, and you'll see, soon this will all be just a bad memory."  
  
Buffy stood up and quickly slipped out of her mother's arms. She and Joyce had shared a moment, but obviously the moment had passed.  
  
"I'm setting down a few ground rules, though, and I expect them to be followed." Buffy gazed sternly at her assembled friends and family as she paced the length of the living room. "No more patrol parties. This is my job, and I will do it, but I will do it alone." She saw the protests forming on more than one set of lips and held up her hands to stop the words before they were born.  
  
"No arguments. I hunt alone. Anyone who violates my privacy will have to answer for it, and you know what I'm capable of when I'm mad." She turned to Spike. "As for you, one more unwanted assist and you will be wearing the latest thing in wooden stakes as a lapel pin...for about as long as it takes you to go poof."  
  
"Now that's gratitude for you," he grumbled into his mug of cocoa.  
  
"But we always patrol with you," Willow said unhappily. "Not when you were with...well, anyone you'd rather have been alone with, but when you were alone we were with you."  
  
"That was then, this is future now. As in from here on out," Buffy answered firmly. "Now, Rule Number 2: what to do when Buffy says it's time to get out of Dodge. There is bad stuff coming, like apocalypse bad."  
  
"Again?" Xander whined  
  
"When I think it will be hitting town," Buffy continued after a sharp look in Xander's direction, "I want all of you out of here and on your way to LA. There's a hotel called the Hyperion; Cordy and Wes and another guy named Gunn will be there. They'll take care of you and you can take care of them."  
  
"I won't leave you, Buffy. I am your Watcher as well as someone who cares about you. I will be by your side until the end." Giles couldn't even believe she had suggested it. As if he would let her face the greatest evil by herself.  
  
"You will leave when the time comes, if I have to knock you out, stuff you in a box and send you parcel post. I need to know all of you are safe, and if I have to fall back I only want one place I need to defend."  
  
"None of us will go, Buff. We're a team. We stick together and we'll go out fighting." Xander looked to Willow and Giles, seeing the same resolve on their faces. "Sorry, Buffy; you're overruled."  
  
"This is not negotiable."  
  
"No, this is stupid," Anya said abruptly. "You can all yell about it until you turn blue in the face, which, by the way, I have cast spells to make people do, and it's not an easy skin tone to pull off, let me tell you."  
  
"Anya, sweetie," Xander tried to interrupt. Tried and failed.  
  
"But this is all just theoretical now anyway," she continued briskly. "Why not wait until the demon or demons are coming over the ridge and then start arguing over who gets to shoot at the whites of their eyes?" Anya saw the glazed looks on the faces of those around her turn to disbelief and hastened to explain. "What, can't a girl watch a few John Wayne movies when she gets bored?"  
  
Buffy sighed, surrendering her position for the moment. "Fine, we'll fight about it then. But the no hunting rule is not up for discussion now or ever. I am staying here to do a job, and I won't let anyone get in my way."  
  
* * * * *  
  
They were still sitting in the living room discussing "what to do about Buffy" when the Slayer in question slipped out of the house to go on patrol. Hopefully her loved ones would be too busy being concerned about her to notice she was gone.  
  
All the rest had been taken from her, but one small saving grace remained. It was to this that she had clung as she unpacked her bags and resigned herself to ending her days in Sunnydale. And it was for this that she insisted on solo patrols.  
  
He was out there somewhere, waiting for her. And one way or another, on this plane or the next, she would find him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	8. Chapter 7

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 7  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
& PJ  
  
  
  
"No, Xander, absolutely not. I work solo." Buffy tossed another stake over her shoulder, not bothering to verify that it landed in the weapons bag. She hadn't missed one yet.  
  
"Umm, Buffy, really appreciate the technique, but could you please yell 'four' or maybe 'incoming' before you throw another one of those things?" Xander abandoned the spot on the floor where he had flung himself to avoid the stake and resumed his seat on the bed.  
  
"Not to be rude, but no one actually asked you to join me while I got ready for work."  
  
"No, I came out of the goodness of my heart, and a sincere desire to get away from Anya for an evening. She's looking at bridal magazines again and starting to hum old Carpenter's songs. I think she's hinting at something."  
  
Buffy stopped her preparations long enough to give Xander a long look. "Be grateful for what you have, Xander. Not everyone gets so lucky. Now, I'm going out hunting," she held up her hand to keep him from interrupting her, "alone, and you should go home to your girlfriend, who would, for some strange reason, like to be more than your girlfriend."  
  
"I'm just worried about you, Buff." He shrugged and smiled apologetically at her. "We all are. I know it's only been three months, but..."  
  
"I'm fine," she quickly interrupted him. She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Now get out of here. I have to study for finals after patrol, so I need to get moving."  
  
"At least promise me you'll think about coming out with all of us Friday night," he begged as she shooed him out of her bedroom and towards the stairs.  
  
"I'll think about it," she said grudgingly. "But only if you promise to stop trying to follow me on patrol. There are some things a girl has to do for herself."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Where are you?" she muttered under her breath as she twisted out of the grasp of an overly enthusiastic vampire. She spun around, preparing to scissor kick him into a nearby tree branch when her foot slipped on the damp grass. Another vamp barreled into her before she had a chance to regain her footing and forced her to the ground.  
  
She lay on the ashes of several other previously dispatched vampires, pinned beneath the dead weight of the second-to-last survivor. She could see the smile creep across his gnarled face as she struggled to get the leverage to shove him off. The silvery glow of the spring moonlight gleamed on his fangs as he lowered his head to strike.  
  
And then she felt it. The shiver in her soul, that certain prickling under her skin that told her he was somewhere near.  
  
He came. He couldn't stay away any more than she could, and so he came to her once again to give her strength to continue the fight. And as always, she reveled in their combined energy.  
  
She threw off the vampire who was pinning her and rolled in the opposite direction immediately, reaching out instinctively to grasp her stake as she passed it. She was on her feet an instant later, striking rapid deadly blows at anything within arms' reach. A few minutes later she stood alone in the cemetery, surrounded by small piles of ashes.  
  
Alone. He had disappeared again, without so much as a whisper in her ear or a blade of grass disturbed to show that he had ever been there.  
  
"You could have at least wished me luck on my finals!" she yelled defiantly at the empty air.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Joyce twisted her hands nervously as she paced, praying she was doing the right thing. She had known for months that there was a problem, but everyone kept counseling patience. She had been patient, in her estimation very patient, all winter and spring. Having reached the depths of summer with no appreciable improvement in the situation, she felt it was now time for action.  
  
"Rupert, I'm very worried about Buffy. I know you all keep telling me to give her time, but I think it's been long enough." She stopped her anxious trek across Giles' braided throw rug and sat down beside him on the sofa. "She should be getting on with her life by now, but all she seems to care about is getting on with her slaying."  
  
Giles sighed. This wasn't the first time Joyce had come to him with this concern, and each time it became more difficult to calm her down. He could hardly blame her; it had been hard enough for him to watch Buffy the past six months. If he had been her real parent, instead of a come-lately surrogate, he could imagine the fear would be overwhelming.  
  
Still, he had to try and be the voice of reason for Joyce. Given Buffy's fragile emotional state, her mother's concerns could only exacerbate the tension between them.  
  
"Joyce," he began slowly, "I realize this is a difficult time for you. It must be very hard to sit by and not be able to make things better, the way you would have done when Buffy was a child. Still, she is not a child and she is not dealing with a skinned knee or a bad report card. She lost the man she loved, and whatever we may have thought of him, he was the most important person in her world. She's not going to snap right back."  
  
"It's been six months, Rupert; that's half a year. I made allowances at first for the distance and the moodiness; I thought it was natural but eventually it would pass." Joyce leaned forward in her chair. "But it just goes on and on. She's finally started to go out with her friends again, but it's almost as though she feels she has to. And Rupert, she's taking courses this summer. My Buffy, whose favorite semester in school used to be summer vacation, is willingly sitting in a classroom in August. I've seen her grades and I know she's doing very well, but she never talks about it. She doesn't talk about anything unless I force the issue."  
  
"You haven't been encouraging her to date again, have you?" he asked warily. It had taken him weeks to soothe the hurt feelings in the Summers household following Joyce's last attempt at matchmaking, and it had cost him precious time with the visiting Olivia.  
  
"Well I've suggested it, but she just stares at me and then she changes the subject. I only want her to be happy, Rupert. She's my daughter and I want her to enjoy her life."  
  
"Give her time, Joyce. You must be patient," Giles begged. He ran his hands through his hair, struggling for the right words to calm Joyce down without giving her false hope. "This is not a quick or simple process. As a Slayer she faces death every day, but that doesn't mean she accepts it for anyone else but herself. Eventually she will deal with this all...but I'm not sure she will ever be the same girl again, and I don't think you should expect her to be."  
  
Joyce looked away for a moment, trying to compose her thoughts. He still wasn't seeing the root of the problem, and she wasn't sure she could find the words to break it down for him.  
  
"Joyce, is there something else?" She was being far too quiet for Giles' peace of mind; these sessions were usually a noisy, drawn-out affair. Not that he minded the quick cessation of dramatics, but he found it suspicious.  
  
She sighed heavily. Maybe he would be able to make sense of things; heaven knows she wasn't able to do it.  
  
"It's the slaying," she said with difficulty. "She...looks forward to it. Too much so, I think. She can't wait to go out, and when she comes back she's covered in bruises and cuts but she's...glowing. And yet she's also terribly sad. It reminds me..." Joyce paused for an instant before plunging ahead, "it reminds me of when she was dating...him."  
  
Even after all this time, Joyce still only spoke Angel's name under duress.  
  
"I really think that..." Even as he was protesting the analogy, a terrible thought was blooming in Giles' mind. He had to find Buffy, and soon. Perhaps it was all just a misunderstanding, but he would not rest easy until he had reassured himself.  
  
"Joyce, do you have any idea where Buffy was headed tonight?"  
  
Her forehead wrinkled as Joyce racked her brain for any information. After the first few months of unexplained hostility, Buffy had slowly begun to share pieces of her life with her mother again. Details, however, had been on a need-to-know basis.  
  
"I think...I think she said something about an Arles demon. Yes, she definitely said she needed a flame-thrower to fight an Arles demon. Does that tell you anything?"  
  
Giles winced at the hopeful tone in Joyce's voice; he desperately hoped her confidence wasn't misplaced. If he was right in his suspicions, he had been rather seriously underestimating the depth of the problem.  
  
"It's a start," he hedged. "There are only so many places where she would be likely to find an Arles demon where a flame-thrower could be used safely." Assuming, of course, she was still thinking rationally enough to consider safety.  
  
Joyce squeezed his hand tightly. "Please help her Rupert. You might be the only who can get through to her. Sometimes I think you're the only one she listens to at all."  
  
At least the only one who can be seen, Giles thought grimly as he smiled absently at Joyce.  
  
* * * * *  
  
The Arles demon had not been alone; that was the first surprise.  
  
The second surprise was his ferocity, which her research had not prepared her for. According to Giles' books, the Arles were a bloodthirsty crew, but somewhat lazy when it came to procuring the blood. They preferred to hurl their victims off of tall buildings or cliffs and let the laws of physics do the necessary rending asunder, rather than have to do all the tedious ripping limb-from-limb stuff themselves.  
  
This Arles, however, must have been listening to motivational tapes in his spare time. He seemed to prefer the more hands-on approach to fighting, only using the rocky sea wall as a tenderizer.  
  
Fortunately the vampires who accompanied the Arles were not so physically inclined. Once they realized Buffy was the Slayer, they were suitably cowed, and quickly dispatched. That left Buffy with only the Arles to fight, but he was enough.  
  
She was beginning to think this would be the one; the battle she did not walk away from. Every night she wondered, and every night she put it off for just one more tomorrow. Tonight it seemed she might be out of tomorrows.  
  
As she bounced off the cliff wall and landed on the sand, she could feel her head start to swim from the repeated blows. Suddenly there were two Arles standing over her, reaching out their enormous scaly arms to drag her to her feet and separate her from some limbs she was very attached to. Buffy closed her eyes and tried to focus her energy for one final assault.  
  
This time, she was on her own.  
  
The shiver came over her unexpectedly, followed instantly by the Arles demon hurtling backward. As soon as she was free, she heard a voice growling softly from the air above her.  
  
"Not yet, dammit!"  
  
Buffy caught her breath and opened her eyes, expecting to see him standing before her, but there was only darkness. She reached out for her weapons bag, hoping to find her flashlight, but instead her groping fingers collided with the flame-thrower she had lost track of after her first encounter with cliff wall. Its return was not a moment too soon. The Arles was up again and headed towards her, until she flipped on the flame- thrower and vaporized him.  
  
There was a quick familiar flapping sound that broke the still night air, and then she could feel she was alone. Alone, that is, except for Giles, who was hurrying across the beach towards her.  
  
He found her huddled on the sand, torn between hysterical laughter and sobs.  
  
Buffy looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. "They let him keep his coat," she gasped, almost choking on the nervous giggle that bubbled up in her throat.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Giles was silent on the drive back to Revello Drive. It wasn't until he stopped the car in front of Buffy's house that he spoke to his former charge.  
  
"You had no right to behave the way you did tonight. You risked your life, and the lives of any of those the demon might have pursued had your carelessness allowed him to escape." He tried to keep the fear from his voice, but he couldn't entirely control the trembling. It had been a very close call indeed.  
  
"I got the job done," she answered flatly. What more did he expect of her?  
  
"And what job was that, pray tell? Slaying or ghost busting?"  
  
She looked away. "I don't know what you mean."  
  
"You're trying to raise Angel's spirit by deliberately placing yourself in danger," he accused. "I can't believe it took me so long to figure it out; I can only guess that it was because it's so incredible that it didn't occur to me before tonight."  
  
"I was doing my job," she insisted yet again. After a moment a grudging honesty forced her to admit more. "It's not my fault if Angel happens to show up there to watch."  
  
"So you really raise him with this behavior?"  
  
"Do you think he can watch me in danger and not at least be with me? I know it's crazy...but it's the only way I have to call him."  
  
Buffy hated the desperation she could hear in her voice. She knew she sounded pathetic and clingy, but she couldn't make herself stop what she was doing. She knew he was out there, and that he missed her as badly as she missed him. They both needed this contact; she was sure of it.  
  
"It's not fair, Buffy, to him or you. You need to let go, hard as that may be, so that you can really live the life he left to give you. And he deserves some peace, I would think. Surely you don't believe your nightly distress calls are making for a happy afterlife."  
  
She had known he wouldn't understand. He had loved Jenny; she knew that he had. But Jenny had never become a part of his soul; she hadn't crawled so deep into his heart that removing her was tantamount to removing the organ itself.  
  
Buffy opened up the car door and started to slide out. As her feet touched the pavement, she turned around in her seat. "I don't think I really believe in happy at all, Giles, in life or afterlife."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy walked slowly up the stairs to her room, not bothering to be quiet. Dawn was at a sleep-over, and her mother had told her repeatedly that she preferred Buffy to make noise when she came in, so Joyce would know she made it home alive.  
  
The weary slayer pushed open her bedroom door, not bothering to turn on the light, and tossed her weapons bag on the floor in front of the dresser. Time to crawl into bed for a good four hours of tossing and turning, in preparation for the new day ahead.  
  
"What the hell did you think you were doing out there?"  
  
All the air fled from her lungs as her hands scrabbled at the wall in search of the switch. When the room flooded with light, she could see it was indeed Angel standing before her, large as life, predictably clad in his trademark coat, and looking...incredibly angry.  
  
She could feel a strange pinging sensation in the back of her brain as a grey cloud filtered across her eyes. Her knees started to give way and she stumbled backward, reaching out for the wall to support her.  
  
Instead, she could feel his arms around her, holding her close as he gently lowered her to the ground. Once he had her propped up against the wall he banged the door shut and squatted next to her, anxiously looking over her battered and slightly bloodied frame, looking anywhere but her eyes.  
  
"This can't be real," she murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek. It felt almost real, solid and yet not quite so, the way that things feel solid in a dream just before the dreamer awakens.  
  
Her voice seemed to drag his dark eyes upward to confront her own. He nodded slowly, reaching up to clasp her hand to his cheek. "It's real, more or less. It would have been even more real if you hadn't finally vaporized that Arles demon. What were you thinking of, going against it without back-up?"  
  
She didn't answer; she couldn't. He would know the lie she gave Giles for what it was, and the truth suddenly seemed too pathetic.  
  
"You were daring me, weren't you?" he continued softly. "Every time you patrol, the demons get a little bigger, or you tackle just a few more at one time, all so that I'll ride in like some stupid knight on a white horse to give you the strength to save the day."  
  
Abruptly he pulled away from her, standing up so he could walk over to the window. He forced himself to keep his back to her, even though his eyes hungered for the sight of her as much as his fingers craved the feel of her skin against his own.  
  
"You've been doing it for months now, and I've fallen for it every time."  
  
She scrambled to her feet, suddenly energized by her anger. "Well, hey, sorry to bother you. I had this feeling we had some unfinished business, and this seemed to be the only way I could get in touch with you. But don't worry; I won't be calling again."  
  
"I wish...that I wish I could believe that." Angel gave up the fight and turned around to look at her. How could someone streaked in human and demon blood, trailing dried strands of seaweed and reeking of brine still be so beautiful? His mind reeled with the conundrum.  
  
"Why are you here?" she whispered brokenly, holding to her safe distance across the room. Safe. As though there was such a thing between she and Angel.  
  
"You have to stop doing this, Buffy. This kamikaze slaying is going to catch up with you before your time, and then everything you've been working for will be gone."  
  
"What about everything I've been hoping for? That's already gone." She took a few steps forward, forsaking safety for the feel of him near her. "It died when you did, and I can't really seem to care about the rest."  
  
"The rest is your life," he insisted. "Yours, and everyone else's that you love. You say you want to protect them, and then you go off and try to get yourself killed. How will you protect them then?"  
  
"I'm holding my own," she growled. "And if someday I don't, another slayer will be called. She'll be the lucky winner of the hellmouth behind Door Number Three, and I can finally be with you all the time instead of this 'now you feel me, now you don't' thing we've been doing for the past six months."  
  
"Don't you think I want that too? Don't you think I'm waiting for the day when we can be together forever?" He, too, stepped a few feet closer, meeting her in the middle of the room. "And don't you think it's hard on me too to just...float in like some stupid Patrick Swayze wannabe and hope that it will be enough to get you through one more fight?"  
  
"Then why?"  
  
"Because this is the way it has to be for now. You still have work to do, and I'm not supposed to be around you at all. But I can't..." he closed his eyes, remembering the sight of her, bleeding and scarcely conscious, in the grips of the Arles. "I can't watch without stepping in, and I can't not watch."  
  
She touched his cheek again and he opened his eyes to look down at her.  
  
"At least when you drop in to play Sir Galahad I can feel you with me again," she whispered. "I'm sorry I've been scaring you but...God, I've missed you. I got so used to feeling a piece of you inside me and now it's gone." She tried to control the quiver in her voice, but it broke through at the end.  
  
"Buffy, I'm still with you. I'm always with you." He reached up to cup her hand to his cheek. "In those last moments I was dreaming I was with you, and when I felt the stake...a part of me crawled so deep inside you that night that I don't think you can even tell it's me. I'm just another part of you now." With his free hand he reached out and gently touched her breast. "And I'm always going to be in there."  
  
"I'm so tired, Angel," she confessed sadly. "I'm tired of the fighting, and the killing and the trying to pretend it makes a difference. Evil will always be there, and so will slayers. I'm good at what I do, but I'm expendable...to everyone but you."  
  
"That's not true," he protested. "Your friends and your family love you. They need you. There will always be slayers, but the world will only get one Buffy Summers, and I'm not going to let you deprive the world of her too soon."  
  
She wanted to weep with frustration. Why did his needs, and hers, always count as second best?  
  
"I won't deny my friends love me; they're great and I love them too. But they all have someone in their lives now who is the most important person to them, and they have each other. As for my family," she sighed, "Well, first we have my little sister, who isn't really my sister at all but actually is a great big ball of energy shrunk down to a 32AA in need of braces. I suppose if we have to we can count my absentee dad, and, of course, my mom; a proud drop-out of Meddler's Anonymous." Buffy paused for a moment, unsure of how to continue. "I know what she said to you Angel; why you left Sunnydale. She was totally wrong, and she had no right even if she had been right, which she wasn't."  
  
"Buffy, it's okay." He turned his head against the palm resting on his cheek, nuzzling it slightly. "There weren't any burning torches or angry villagers involved, and she didn't say anything I wasn't already thinking."  
  
"I've been so angry with her, but I couldn't tell her why because that would just be one more reason for her not to like you, because you told me."  
  
"You should tell her. Being angry just wastes time."  
  
"Is that why I shouldn't be angry with you?" Her hand quickly dropped from his cheek to her side, curling into a fist on its way down. "For not telling me about the day you made not happen? Our day, that you let them take away so I could live long enough to fight some damn apocalypse, like I was just dying to do that again."  
  
"I did what I thought was right. And if I had it to do again...I probably would do the same thing." He gave no further excuse; there was none he could offer.  
  
"Even knowing how little time was left?" She trembled with the effort it took not to reach out and shake him. "If you knew you were going to be dead in a year anyway, a year we could have spent together, would you still have taken it all back?"  
  
He nodded sadly, reaching out to trace a single lock of blonde hair that drifted across her cheek. "What if I hadn't, Buffy? It might have been you that was taken first. Knowing that I was going to die in a year anyway wouldn't have been as bad as watching you die and knowing I could have prevented it."  
  
"It just makes me so mad!" She slapped the palm of her hand on his chest, and then left it there, fingers curling around a button on his shirt. "You make this big sewer speech about all the things you want to give me, but can't, and then when you can you won't because you still feel like it's not enough."  
  
Buffy wanted to stay angry with him, but time was slipping away. She had been gifted with these few precious moments, and she was wasting them tearing at him. There were so many other things to be said; things that wouldn't bring any more pain to those dark eyes she so loved.  
  
No more regrets about words unspoken, she promised herself. Leaning forward, Buffy rubbed her cheek against the hard familiar planes of his chest as she whispered, "Why wouldn't you ever believe me when I said you were enough, just you?"  
  
He lowered his head to rest on hers, cheek pressed to her slightly salty hair. "Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I never wanted you to have to live with any of this. I just wanted you to be safe and happy."  
  
"Were you? Happy, I mean, that last year?" she asked softly, turning her head so that she could prop her chin on his chest. "Cordelia said you were, before Darla came back."  
  
"No." He raised his head from its resting place, smiling faintly at the disappointment on her upturned face. "I was happier. Happier than I thought I would be if I was separated from you. Happier than I felt I deserved sometimes. Happier than I would have been if I was alone and cut off from humanity. Didn't being with your friends or with Riley make you happier than being by yourself, at least some of the time?"  
  
"Sometimes," she admitted grudgingly.  
  
"It's a relative term; like holding two candles up to the night sky and deciding which one gives just a little more light." He reached down and slid his arms around her waist, holding her tightly against him. "But 'happy' is an absolute, and the only time I've known that in all my days...has been the time I spent with you."  
  
She sighed, resting her head on his chest once more. Still no heartbeat, but perhaps even in heaven some things were a little on the impossible side. He was, after all, more dead than ever.  
  
"So fine; you came, you scolded, you made with the sweet nothings. Where do we go from here?" She trembled inside, knowing what the answer must be.  
  
"I go back, and you stay here. You fight...and I don't show up on my horse to sweep you away." He slipped his hand under her chin and tilted her head back so that she faced him. "I mean it, Buffy. I can't do it any more. Even if I thought I could stand it, I'm not allowed. It seems I created quite a stir earlier when I actually took form to get the Arles off of you. If it hadn't been so important for me to talk you out of this craziness, there is no way I could be here now. But it ends here, tonight. Now."  
  
"No! I feel like I just got you back and now you're going to vanish like some freaking...ghost?"  
  
"Still answering to 'undead American,' thank you." When his teasing didn't provoke a reminiscent smile, he became serious again. "It could be a long time, Buffy; I honestly don't know. And in the meantime you need to make your own life. But I promise I will come back for you someday, and the next time you see me will be for keeps."  
  
"Please don't do this. At least not yet," she begged. "We still have so much to talk about, and I have so much to yell at you for." She let out a little sound that was half laugh and half sob. "I've got pages and pages of ammunition in those journals and you've hardly let me have two seconds to call you on any of it."  
  
"Later," he promised, silvery tears flickering on the edges of his dark lashes. He bent down and kissed her, concentrating fiercely on holding his corporeal form for just a few moments more. He needed to hold her once more, to feel enveloped in her warmth and her love. He needed her to know that his love was just as strong, and just as eternal.  
  
At length she pulled away, cursing as always her need to breathe. She reached up and ran a finger along his jaw, marveling that even blindfolded, in a room with a thousand other men she would know the shape of it at a moment's touch.  
  
"If I really, really have to let you go..."  
  
Angel nodded. "You really, really do."  
  
"Then I need to know something, before you leave." She looked solemnly into his eyes, knowing she would spot a lie or evasion in their dark depths instantaneously. "Everyone keeps telling me I have to let you 'rest in peace.' I know you never had much when you were here, and a lot of that was my fault. So I need to know." She smiled wistfully at him. "Are you at peace, or am I really screwing it up for you with all these late night calls?"  
  
He wanted to reassure her, but he could not lie. The truth would not be so unbearable, now that she knew it would not always be the truth.  
  
"I wouldn't exactly call it peace," he admitted. "The guilt isn't really gone, but it doesn't eat at me the way it used to. I guess you could say I've found some perspective after all this time. The only thing that really haunts me now...is you."  
  
"Then I guess you're at peace-er," she offered with a faint smile.  
  
He traced her lips with his finger, memorizing their curves and texture, as though he could ever forget. Why did he seem destined to spend so much of his time saying goodbye to this woman, and why did it never get any easier?  
  
"Something like that," he agreed.  
  
She drew a deep breath. "Then for now...I can let you go." She forced herself to step back, out of the shelter of his arms, out of reach of all that she held dear in the world. "I love you."  
  
"I love you too. Always."  
  
She kept her gaze fixed on him until the last, needing to hold close every moment of their time together. When at last he had vanished, and not even a shimmer disturbed the air, she closed her eyes and sank down on the floor, drawing her body into a tight protective ball.  
  
She didn't know where she would go from here, or how she would face the future alone. For so long she had counted on a kindly twist of Fate, or perhaps a simple balancing of the scales of Justice to reunite them. Now that hope was ash just as surely as her lover was.  
  
Lacking any other alternative, she could let go of the dream. Her heart, however, would never completely surrender the man. It was, after all, now his heart too.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	9. Chapter 8

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 8  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
&  
  
PJ  
  
  
  
Buffy quietly let herself into the house, glancing around to check for any signs of life. The living room was already decorated for the party, but the only noises she could hear came from upstairs. With a tiny sigh she climbed the stairs, carefully bypassing her old bedroom en route to Dawn's room.  
  
"Hey," Buffy called softly from the doorway, "are you almost ready to go? The ceremony is supposed to start in," she glanced down at her wrist, "less than a half an hour."  
  
Dawn turned around from her mirror and grinned as she laid her hairbrush down on the nightstand and clicked off the radio. "I've been ready for ages. Mom is the one who can't decide what speed film to bring, or how many rolls."  
  
Buffy groaned as she checked her watch once more. "I know she's all excited because 'her baby' is graduating high school, but if she doesn't get a move on we won't have anything to take pictures of."  
  
"I think she's just trying to make up for all the stuff she didn't get to do when you graduated. I mean she tried when you finished college, but it wasn't the same."  
  
"Sure wasn't. No explosives, no giant demon snakes, no arson charges filed." Buffy shrugged and tried not to look too hard at the other things that had been missing from her college graduation. Involuntarily her hand rose to cover the old scar on her throat.  
  
Some wounds never heal; no matter how much time they are given.  
  
Dawn toyed nervously with the discarded brush, searching for a tactful way to bring up a touchy subject. "Umm are you going to stay over tonight, after the party? I know Mom has your room all made up, just in case."  
  
"You mean Mom hasn't unmade my room since the day I left," Buffy corrected her. She shivered slightly at the thought of staying in the mausoleum that her old room had become. "No, I think I'll just head back to the apartment. It's not like it's a long drive or anything. Why would she think I'd need to stay?"  
  
"I think she just kind of hoped." Dawn offered a hesitant smile. "Sometimes it seems like you avoid her, or us, or maybe it's just the house. You left so suddenly, and you never said why, but ever since then you act like you have to be dragged in here. I think it hurts her feelings."  
  
"I was in college, Dawn. I went back to the dorms." Buffy's temper was beginning to fray; this was an old debate and one she was tired of revisiting. "I only left them because Mom was sick, and then she got better."  
  
"But you didn't even wait until they were open," Dawn protested. "I went to a sleep-over one night and when I came back the next morning you were tossing stuff in Giles' car and moving in with Xander and Anya until fall semester began. And then when you graduated, you never came back at all; you moved right into an apartment."  
  
"That's what people do. They move out, move on. Jeeze; everyone kept telling me to 'move on' back then, and when I did they got mad about that too." She instantly regretted her harsh tone; she knew Dawn was only trying to help.  
  
"It seems more like you moved away."  
  
Buffy was deluged by a wave of guilt when she heard the lost note in her sister's voice. She had stayed in Sunnydale to protect Dawn, and she had done that well, but surely there was more to being an older sister than just making sure the younger sibling didn't die a horrible death. In some ways it made being the Slayer look easy in comparison.  
  
"Dawn, I'm sorry if you think I don't want to be around you, or Mom." Impulsively she hugged her younger sister. "I need space, though; maybe more than most people. And part of that space means not staying here, with a lot of old memories. I have enough of them in my head already."  
  
It wasn't the complete truth, but it was a truth that Dawn could understand. Buffy could never hope to explain the appalling emptiness her old room held for her now. Some days she thought she would be buried under the weight of her memories, of all that had been, or could have been, and yet she clung to them as a way to keep the past, and Angel, alive.  
  
It wasn't the memories that drove her from that room, this house, three years ago; it was the certainty that there would never be any more. And it was that knowledge that kept her from ever going back.  
  
"I'm sorry I made you sad," Dawn murmured, digging her chin into Buffy's shoulder.  
  
Buffy pulled back slightly and reached out to gently tug one long brown strand of Dawn's hair. "Nope," she said firmly, "my bad. This is your day and we should be celebrating, not getting all weepy." She forced a small smile, resolutely banishing the ghosts to their customary corner of her mind.  
  
"It all seems so weird, you know." Dawn turned back to her mirror for a final make-up check. "You're gone, I'm going away. Everything is changing so fast."  
  
Joyce bustled into the room, camera in hand, before Buffy could reply. "So, are you two finally ready?" she asked brightly. "We need to hustle or we'll be late."  
  
"And some things will never change," Buffy added, nodding slightly at Joyce. Her smile was genuine this time as she and Dawn shared a giggle at their unwitting mother's expense.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"That was the most beautiful ceremony, don't you think?" Joyce asked over her shoulder as she placed her key in the lock on the front door.  
  
Xander shrugged and draped his arm around Anya's waist. "Considering what I have to compare it to, it's not really fair for me to say. It was definitely quieter than experience has led me to expect from a graduation."  
  
Anya leaned gratefully into his side, worn out from a long day and the 30 extra pounds she was carrying courtesy of Xander Jr. "Someday our offspring will graduate from that school. I hope they can afford to put cushions on the wooden benches by then."  
  
"They're called bleachers, hon, and they're not supposed to be padded."  
  
"Well, trust me, it was the..." Joyce's voice trailed off as she looked down at the key turning freely in the lock. "Funny, I could have sworn I remembered to lock the door." She pushed the door open, but before she could enter Buffy brushed past her and stood in the open doorway.  
  
"Mom, let me go in first." Buffy stepped cautiously into the foyer, and then stopped dead when she realized the identity of their housebreakers. "Cordy, Wes, what are you doing here?"  
  
Cordelia rose wearily from the hall chair and tossed the magazine she had been reading onto the writing desk. "Well, I always like to go to Paris in the spring, but Gunn thought it was too touristy so we compromised on Sunnydale instead."  
  
Wesley glanced apprehensively at Cordelia; she was under a greater strain than she would ever admit, and it was starting to show around the edges.  
  
"Cordelia has had a vision. A very bad one, I'm afraid."  
  
Gunn strolled out of the kitchen, a glass of water in his hand. "Yeah, she's been popping pain pills like M&Ms since she stopped screaming."  
  
Buffy hurried over to Cordelia, gently pulling her into the living room and settling her on the couch. The rest of the Scoobies trailed in after them, followed by Wesley and Gunn.  
  
"Are you okay, Cor?" Buffy hovered anxiously over Cordelia as the dark- haired woman swallowed three more pills along with water from the glass Gunn proffered.  
  
Cordelia rubbed her hand across her forehead and offered a weak smile. "I've been better. This one was a real lu-lu. I haven't felt anything like it since Vocah did that allemande left in the street market and gave me the psychic cooties."  
  
Buffy dimly sensed her friends and family settling in for story hour, but the majority of her attention was focused on Cordelia. However much she had tried to protect Angel's friends over the years, she was unable to shield Cordelia from the visions that plagued her even after Angel's death, and those visions always led the trio into trouble. She could only be grateful that this time they had called her for help before it got too bad.  
  
"So what's the deal? Do we have demons commuting from LA, or are we expecting a sudden increase in the permanent population?" Xander rubbed his hands and tried not to look too eager. He had missed the camaraderie of patrols, if not the actual danger, and he sensed a good old-fashioned group hunt in the offing.  
  
Cordelia glanced quickly at Wesley and Gunn, silently questioning who among them would be the spokesperson. After a brief struggle of wills, Wesley was elected.  
  
The Englishman nervously cleared his throat. "I'm afraid it's rather more than a demonic infestation this time. It appears the hellmouth is not quite so closed as you believed, and it is about to become active once again." He paused for a moment, wishing he had any new but this to deliver. "You see it's finally begun, after all these years. The End of Days."  
  
"The end of what?" Joyce asked. She was puzzled by the sudden chilly silence that enveloped the room, drawing even Dawn into its depths. Joyce alone was the outsider, again.  
  
"Armageddon, Mom," Buffy answered quietly. She looked over at Wesley, hoping he would tell her that there was a chance it was a mistake. "Have there been signs, or are we just going on the word of Vision Girl?" She cocked a half-smile at Cordelia to show she wasn't trying to offend.  
  
"Oh, there have been signs, B. What else would you call me being back in Sunnydale?" called a voice from the hallway.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Faith strolled into the Summers living room, trying to project some of her trademark self-confidence with a swagger and a smirk. The effect was somewhat spoiled, however, by her eyes, which darted nervously from one hostile face to another.  
  
"Still hanging with the same old crowd, I see." She nodded politely to each in turn as she strolled past. "All for one and one for all. Nice to see some things don't change."  
  
"Who let her out?" Willow demanded indignantly. Her moment of bravado faded quickly under the heat of Faith's gaze. The witch shrank back against her seat cushion, as she mumbled, "No offense."  
  
"None taken," Faith replied calmly. She completed her circuit of the living room and joined Wesley and Gunn in the archway.  
  
"You'll have to forgive us Faith; this is kind of a surprise," Buffy said with the barest trace of anger in her tone. "I think I can guess why you're here, but 'how' would be a good place to pick up the story." She glanced sharply at Wesley. "Did you break her out? Or did she break herself out?"  
  
"I beg your..."  
  
Faith laid a hand on the sputtering Wesley's arm. "Down boy. I'll defend your honor." She raised an eyebrow at Buffy, a hint of the old Faith in her mocking smile. "Get real. Can you honestly picture Huey, Duey and Louise here staging the big prison break scene? Of course I'm kind of flattered you think I could go over the wall myself, but it didn't turn out to be necessary. I'm here all nice and legal, with the apologies of the state of California no less."  
  
"Now I know the world is coming to an end," Xander said in amazement.  
  
"How? And when?" Buffy leaned back on the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest, preparing for a long, but hopefully truthful story.  
  
"Three months ago," Faith answered swiftly. "As for how, well, Wes can explain it better than me."  
  
"Three months? And no one told me?"  
  
"Well some of us thought you might go a little postal about it; can't imagine how that idea ever crossed anyone's mind." Cordelia regretted her sarcastic tone a moment later when she realized the underlying fear supporting Buffy's anger. "Hey, we knew she was safe, but we also knew you'd worry. You do enough of that, so we figured we'd handle this one."  
  
"You couldn't be sure it was safe," Buffy insisted. "You put yourselves in danger for no reason."  
  
"No, it was for a very good reason, and you know what, or should I say 'who,' it was." Cordelia winced as the escalating tones brought a renewed throb of pain in her skull. She rubbed her temples fretfully, trying to force her overactive nerve endings to cease hostilities. "We figured he'd want us to watch out for her."  
  
"It was still most irresponsible of you," Giles said sternly, gazing narrowly at Wesley. "I would have credited you with better sense."  
  
"Oh, you mean like the last time she got off your radar and your dialing finger couldn't quite reach the phone to let us know? Or was that a way of directing a different finger at Angel?"  
  
"Cordelia, please," Wesley begged. "These are old issues. Today, of all days, we need to focus on the future, and making sure such a thing exists."  
  
"There was no malice intended," Giles protested. "Things happened so fast..."  
  
"Look, what I did, I did and no one else," Faith said abruptly, "so enough with the blame count here. As far as me getting sprung, they didn't tell you because I asked them not to, and I made myself scarce when you came to visit." She glanced at each of her new partners, her gaze lingering on Gunn for a moment before she completed her thought. "This was really important to me. I wanted to make sure it, you know, took, before I let the world know."  
  
"It came about so unexpectedly, you see. It took us quite by surprise," Wesley apologetically. "During the course of yet another investigation of Wolfram and Hart's legal practices..."  
  
Buffy groaned, earning her not only a sour look from Wesley, but also from Cordelia when storytelling was resumed at a higher decibel to discourage further interruption.  
  
"...We accidentally came across some rather interesting, and damaging information." Wesley paused for a moment, but when he sensed he had made his point, he moderated his tone. "It seems they had several judges and assistant district attorneys on the payroll, including those assigned to Faith's trial. It was really quite scandalous. The idea that the law firm is not only willing to represent the dregs of society but would actually subvert the legal..."  
  
"Focus, Wesley." Cordelia's sigh had the sound of practice.  
  
He cleared his throat and began again, after subjecting his martyred partner to an icy glare. "When the facts about the corruption were made public, the verdicts in the cases involved were overturned, rather than put the state to the enormous financial burden of declaring mistrials and beginning again. The people sentenced in those cases were set free; Faith included."  
  
"They were afraid she would sue; can you believe it?" Cordelia shook her head. "She offed a guy, confessed, and still got set free because the state was afraid she'd sue for wrongful imprisonment or something." She smiled half-heartedly at Faith. "No offense."  
  
"And again, none taken." Faith smiled back at Cordelia with equal sincerity. "When I got out I looked up the gang here and decided to try a little honest work for a change." She looked down at her hands for a moment as all traces of levity vanished. "Someone convinced me once that strength isn't just a gift, it's a responsibility, and I should be flattered that I was trusted with it. I decided to try things his way for awhile." An expression of genuine surprise crossed her face. "So far, it's been working out okay."  
  
"Give or take a little apocalypse," Cordelia snapped. "Hello! Can we get back to my bone-crushing migraine and the end of the world, among other things?"  
  
"Hey, that's why I'm here." Faith leaned ever so slightly against Gunn, and no one but Buffy spotted his arm move behind her back to hold her there. "I didn't have anything better on my calendar, so I thought I'd swing by the old burg, say my hellos and help prevent apocalypse number...what one are we up to again?" She looked around the room for an answer.  
  
"Oh, who counts them anymore?" Xander impatiently waved away the question. "What I want to know is if all those stories I've seen on TV about women's prisons are true."  
  
"Xander, shut up." Buffy's tone was pleasant, but with enough underlying steel to close Xander's mouth with an audible snap. "So who are the demons trying to open up Mount St. Hellmouth and how do we stop them?"  
  
"That's the trouble." Wesley grimaced as he tried to think of a positive spin he could put on his news. "This isn't a situation like before where an outside source is trying to open it and harvest its power. We are talking about a true apocalypse; the demons from within are breaking free. The boundaries between dimensions are about to collapse." He waved his finger in the air, trying to rally the troops as he delivered his sole piece of good news. "But we knew this day was coming, and we have been researching for years in preparation. Cordelia's vision, jumbled as it was..."  
  
"Oh, that's gratitude for you," the seer in question snapped.  
  
"...provided sufficient detail, I was about to add," Wesley said in an injured tone. "As a result, I believe we have a spell to shore up the boundaries, and perhaps just enough time to use it." He paused. "Perhaps."  
  
"So all we need to do a little spiritual spackling and then everybody stays in their own neighborhood?" Willow asked hopefully.  
  
"Yes, well, it's a bit more complex than that. Apparently the spell produces some sort of energy, a tremendous amount if the writings of Belzarus the Elder are to be believed. But the energy must be generated from within."  
  
"See, that's the fun part," Faith grinned with genuine pleasure. It was good to feel useful again, especially if it allowed for a little literal hell-raising. "That incantation Wes thinks will do the trick, it has to be taken orally." Seeing the blank look on Willow's face, among others, she elaborated. "We have to let the hellmouth open first, get down inside of it to sing the lullaby and then get out before the incantation actually shuts it down for a long winter's nap."  
  
"If that actually closes it," Buffy pointed out with a sigh. "I can't believe this is happening today, of all days." She waved her hand at all the 'Congratulations Graduate' banners and balloons taped to the walls. "Figure the odds."  
  
"Something about this town and graduations," Faith agreed. "Speaking of, Dawn, like the signs say: congrats. Guess all that time you spent studying while big sis was out slaying paid off." She smiled genially at the younger girl, knowing that Dawn knew her even if in Faith's reality they had never met before. "Sorry we missed the ceremony, but hey, at least we made it for the party."  
  
"Thanks," Dawn replied uneasily. "It was nice you could come...I think."  
  
Buffy shared a puzzled glance with her mother and Giles. Obviously, the LA branch of the Scoobies had briefed Faith on Dawn's true identity; they were the only other people to know the secret. Removed as they were from Dawn's day-to-day life, and never having received a memory remodeling the way the Sunnydale team had, there seemed little risk they would let something slip.  
  
But now, strangely enough, it seemed Faith was also willing to be a part of the well-intentioned conspiracy of silence. Somehow this came as more of a surprise than the threat of Armageddon.  
  
Joyce dealt with her confusion and fear in the manner that had served her so well as the mother of the Chosen One: denial. As far as she was concerned, and until official notice otherwise, today was nothing more than an ordinary tribal rite-of-passage day...with cake, as Anya would be quick to point out.  
  
"Well, I'll start calling the guests to tell them not to come, but since this is the only high-school graduation Dawn is ever going to have, what do you say we make a dent in the cake and ice cream while you figure out how to save the world?"  
  
Some were born to save the world, and some were born to make sure they did it on a full stomach.  
  
"You know I'm always good for a..." Xander began, taking a step towards the overburdened coffee table, covered to the edges with a tempting variety of party foods.  
  
"We have work to do," Giles abruptly interrupted him.  
  
Buffy stood up quickly and clapped her hands together briskly. "Right. I have an arsenal to put together and an incantation to learn, and you all have packing to do. I want to see the last set of taillights on an LA- bound car by five o'clock."  
  
* * * * *  
  
"No; absolutely not. I am not leaving." Giles was growing weary of uttering the same phrase over and over, but he was beginning to believe Buffy must have a hearing disorder. No matter how often he repeated himself, she was just not getting the message.  
  
"None of us are going," Cordelia said indignantly. "If we wanted to sit this one out we would have called you with the stats. We're here to be a part of the fight."  
  
"We all want to be a part of this, and you need us beside you." Giles took off his glasses and ran his hand through his hair, a sure sign of deep perturbation. "You have stayed here in Sunnydale, against your own wishes, because a day like this might come. Now that it has, do you truly believe we would let you face it on your own?"  
  
"This is crazy," Buffy said flatly. "If Faith wants to stay, that's okay. She's a slayer and this is part of the deal. Besides, she's had longer to learn the incantation, so she can bore the hellmouth into sleepy-time while I wail on the demons inside it with some nice sharp toys. But the rest of you are going back to LA. Now."  
  
"Buffy, we don't have time for this. There are too many preparations to be made, and you can't handle them all by yourself." Wesley took a few steps closer to Buffy and dropped his voice. "I realize why you want us all to leave, particularly Gunn, Cordelia and myself. It hasn't escaped our attention the care you have shown us the past few years, or the reasons for it." He rested his hand on her shoulder and looked deeply into her troubled hazel eyes. "But he would know our place is here, beside you. As much as you want to protect us for his sake, we want to do the same for you. You must let us."  
  
"But if you don't go back no one else will either," she snarled, pulling away from his placating gesture. "Is it too much to ask that my family and friends be safe?"  
  
"Yes," Wesley answered in unison with Giles.  
  
"Oh swell, stereophonic Watchers." Faith rose gracefully from her seat on the floor and stretched. "Look, I'm sure it will surprise the hell out of everyone to hear me say this, but they're right. Nowhere is safe unless we beat the hellmouth down again, and we don't have time to waste fighting over who gets to hold the stick. You and I can do the front lines and make with the night-night spell; they can sing backup and fetch weapons. Your mom and Dawn and Anya will stay here and make lemonade just in case we actually survive. I don't know about you, but saving the world tends to make this girl thirsty."  
  
Buffy looked from one resolute face to another. Even Anya stood fast, though her knuckles were white as she gripped Xander's arm. Realizing she was beaten, Buffy shrugged her slim shoulders.  
  
"Uncle."  
  
Xander raised his fist in the air in triumph. "All right! Score one for the Scoobies!" he crowed. "We won, we." his hand suddenly dropped to his side. "Wait a minute, what just happened here?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
She could hear the murmur of voices in the living room, and even the unexpected sound of laughter as she slowly climbed the stairs. Her friends were hard at work gathering weapons, learning new rituals and incantations and psyching themselves up to face what might be the last evil the world would ever know. Buffy should be helping them; it was her duty and she knew that. But she could not resist the siren song of a closed door, up the stairs and down the hall on the left.  
  
There was no time for reminisces; there was almost no time left for the world at all. Yet that was precisely why she could not resist the lure of the past on this day.  
  
She twisted the knob reluctantly and gently pushed open the door, checking over her shoulder for witnesses before she stepped across the threshold of her old bedroom. There were none. The coast was clear to confront her ghosts.  
  
It was worse than she had feared. She felt deafened by the echoes of the past as she took in her surroundings and realized how little the room had changed from the day she moved in. It was supposed to look smaller; it was supposed to look smaller, or darker, or at least dustier than she remembered it. A fifteen-year-old girl had decorated this room about a hundred years ago; how could it stay frozen in time like this?  
  
To her eyes it looked just the same, if a little neater than in days of old. She had conscientiously emptied the dresser and the closet, cleared off the top of the vanity and packed up all her books when she moved out. Her mother, however, had moved Buffy's childhood books onto the shelves, stored her castoff clothes in the open closet and left the bed made up as though her oldest daughter would be back any moment. Buffy knew she should be touched by Joyce's unspoken hopes, but instead she felt smothered.  
  
There was no escape, now or ever, from her destiny. Daughter, sister, slayer; all were intertwined in this room, leaving little room for just plain Buffy.  
  
Whoever that was.  
  
She didn't hear the footsteps coming up behind her; it wasn't until she felt a chin come to rest on her shoulder that she was aware of another presence on the second floor.  
  
"Looks almost the same to me. Didn't take much with you, did you B?" Faith pulled back when she felt Buffy stiffen at her touch. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt."  
  
"Not a big."  
  
There was a chill beneath Buffy's casual reply. Too much had happened between them for an easy resumption of their friendship.  
  
Too much had happened for an easy journey to any part of Buffy's past.  
  
Buffy had to force herself to walk all the way into the room, but once she started moving she couldn't seem to stop. As she wandered from one piece of furniture to the next, perversely trying to conjure that sense of nostalgia she had so feared, it suddenly occurred to her what she was really seeking in this room: a reason to continue the fight.  
  
She cared for the others' sake; for them the world must continue to spin on its axis and darkness could not rule over the light. But for herself, she could not find a reason to care. Present and future held no lure, so she sought strength in her past, in their past. Somewhere there must be a piece of herself worth preserving.  
  
If it existed, however, she would not find it here. As she let the flow of memories wash over her, she realized she would not find the reasons she needed in this amber-coated monument to girlhood. Everything within these four walls she already carried inside of her...and it wasn't enough anymore.  
  
Faith leaned in the doorway, unwilling to enter unless she was invited. She watched in silence as Buffy moved restlessly around the room; until at last she could no longer stand the solitude of her own thoughts.  
  
"So were you actually looking for something up here, or just trying to get away from me?"  
  
"I was looking for...something," Buffy absently agreed. She ran her hand over the top of the vanity, trying to remember it cluttered with make-up and jewelry, but for some reason an antique silver cross was the only item she could picture resting there. "Can't seem to find it though. What about you? Why did you come up here?"  
  
"I was looking for you," Faith answered with devastating directness.  
  
"You found me." Suddenly she feared what Faith might have sought her out to say. She was already forcing herself to relive about as much of her past as she could handle. She needed a diversion. "Hey, so what's the deal with you and Gunn? I noticed you seem kind of...close downstairs."  
  
The blush that spread across Faith's cheekbones was something Buffy would have bet good money she would never live to see.  
  
"You saw that, huh? He's, well, he's...special, but you know we're just...well, not exactly just...we're moving really, I mean really slowly." The glow faded from Faith's face, leaving behind an attractive air of maturity. "I was messed up for a long time, and he's not exactly the poster child for stable relationships, so we need to do this in baby steps."  
  
Buffy could remember thinking the same thing after Angel came back from hell. They were going to be just friends, except they were more than that already. So they would take it slow instead, except that there was no time for slow, no allowance for the baby steps Faith took for granted. Even if their emotions had not urged them along further and faster, they were never given the luxury of time to 'take things slow.' That was something normal people got, apparently even Faith got it, but never she and Angel.  
  
That's right, PTBs, Buffy thought dully, bitterness much.  
  
"So what about you?" Faith decided an invitation was not going to be coming any time soon, but neither was an eviction notice. She took a few steps into the room and perched on the desk. "Any potential brothers-in- law I should be checking out? I do work for a detective agency now, you know."  
  
Buffy smiled faintly. "Nope, no one to check out, though it's not for lack of Mom trying. I just don't want to waste my time with '-er' relationships."  
  
"Say that again?"  
  
"Sorry," Buffy shook her head, "private joke."  
  
"Okay," Faith said uneasily, "umm, B, the reason I wanted to talk to you is...I realize it's a little late to be asking, but...are you okay? About Angel, I mean. I wanted to call you when Wesley told me, but I couldn't do it over the phone, and you know how I am about cards." She inwardly cursed herself for her final flip comment, but Buffy's apathy was bringing the old Faith to the fore in self-defense.  
  
"So naturally you waited three and a half years, until the hellmouth yawns and the world is about to fall in. That's just great, Faith." Some things never changed.  
  
"Hey, it wasn't exactly easy for me to do this, you know," Faith protested. Her temper flared, but she quickly regained control. No reverting to old, which is to say bad, habits. "He really went to the mat for me, and I appreciated it, but I know you never did. It made you mad that he could forgive me, and it made you even madder that it made you mad in the first place. I figured seeing me would just bring up a lot of old stuff, and I wasn't sure you'd want to be reminded, of me or of him."  
  
And having seen what the separation had done to Angel, she hadn't been sure she could live with the guilt of seeing how her actions had affected Buffy as well.  
  
"Do you think that I could actually forget? Do you think that there's a day that goes by that he's still not a part of for me?"  
  
Buffy turned away to stare out the window. He was still out there somewhere; she knew it as well as she knew how to breathe. Just because she had stopped trying to draw him out didn't mean she thought he had left her.  
  
"So that makes it sound like a 'no' to the okay question. I was hoping...but I kind of knew." Faith banged her foot disconsolately against the leg of the desk. "I guess that's why I couldn't do this over the phone."  
  
"I've tried to put things back together," Buffy replied quietly, moving closer to the window. "I worked hard at school, even graduated early. I got a good job and a nice apartment, and I see my friends and my mother at least once a week. I'm trying."  
  
"But it's not working," Faith finished for her.  
  
Buffy rested her forehead against the cool glass. So little time left; why bother trying to hide anymore, from Faith or from herself?  
  
"Not enough," she admitted wearily. "I just feel so...old. I'm going to be twenty-four on my next birthday, assuming I actually have a next birthday, and given my luck with them, not having one isn't the worst idea I've ever heard." Her mouth twisted, remembering one birthday in particular that captured all the beauty and horror that symbolized her life in 24 short hours. "But if I do have one, I feel like I should be up to the big eight-o or something. Not twenty-four; I passed that about week two as the slayer."  
  
"Buffy, I know I haven't been on active duty as long as you, but you're still kind of preaching to the choir here. I know how the slayer gig can wear you down. You just have to hang in there," she threw a lazy punch into the air, "and keep fighting."  
  
"It's been over eight years since I put on the big red cape and started saving the world, Faith; I'm tired. I'm tired of the fighting, and the loneliness and never really feeling like anything belongs to me, not even my life." She gave up searching for the face beyond the glass and focused inward, remembering the last time she had seen Angel, in this very room. "Angel was all that was that was ever really mine, and then I lost him. How am I supposed to move on from that and be okay?"  
  
"I admit, I kind of thought you were working on it with that Riley guy," Faith said gently. "You two seemed awfully attached at the hip, among other places."  
  
"That was a long time ago." Buffy opened her eyes, drawn back to the present by the decidedly unromantic topic of Riley Finn. "I thought he was a nice guy, and he'd help me forget. Turns out he wasn't so nice and he only gave me more things I didn't want to remember."  
  
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that." Faith flushed as she scuffed her toe on the carpet. "I really am," she added uneasily when she saw the shock on Buffy's face. Her apology was beyond 'too little too late,' but it was the best she could offer.  
  
"You almost killed Angel, after you tried to drop-kick his soul into oblivion, and you're sorry about Riley? Good to know your priorities are in order, Faith."  
  
Buffy heard the crack in her voice as clearly as Faith; suddenly the ghosts were crowding in too close.  
  
"That was business," Faith answered with all the calm she could muster. She knew that Buffy needed to purge the old bitterness once and for all, if she would only allow herself the outlet. "That doesn't make it right, and it doesn't mean I'm not sorry, but it does make it...different. Angel knew that, and we made our peace a long time ago."  
  
"Peace? You mean he forgave you because he knew exactly what you meant, and then he felt guilty for weeks afterward because he knew exactly what you meant."  
  
"The man knew a thing or two about where to aim a sucker punch," Faith admitted, "and he knew he was the bulls-eye for you. He didn't have a problem with it for himself, Buffy; he was just scared what it could do to you."  
  
"I know," Buffy murmured. "He told me."  
  
Or rather, he had tried to tell her; time and again he had tried, but she had refused to believe his insecurities could run as deep as hers. It wasn't until she had read his journals; read about the life he had given up for her, that she truly understood. So much had been sacrificed that day because Angel believed that he was her greatest weakness instead of recognizing himself as her greatest strength.  
  
"But G.I. Jerk...that was more of a payback thing." Faith toyed nervously with the long chain around her neck as she continued her confession. "I spent eight months inspecting the inside of my eyelids and drinking my dinner through a tube. You spent the same time reinventing yourself." She winced, not enjoying the visit to Faith Past. "Not exactly being Forgive and Forget Girl...I guess I wanted to rub your nose in what a mess you'd made of it."  
  
"The messiest."  
  
There was a brief awkward silence, until Buffy acknowledged that Faith's painful honesty deserved a return in kind.  
  
"Actually, Faith, when I was talking about stuff I didn't want to remember, I wasn't even thinking of that. I mean it hurt, but more because he didn't know it wasn't me. If he knew me at all...but he didn't, and I didn't know him, or want to know him." The memories she was resurrecting snowballed, calling forth shadow upon unwelcome shadow of the past. "I just wanted...a diversion, I guess. Something to keep me distracted from the disaster that was me."  
  
Faith slid off of the desk and cautiously crossed the room to join Buffy at the window.  
  
"So that explains why he's not here today. I figured being the big bad commando and all, he'd want to be in on the fun."  
  
"He left just a little while before Angel died." She'd finally learned how to utter the word 'died' without pausing, but it would always send out a flare of pain to raw nerve endings. "Eventually he came back, after he found out what happened. He actually thought that..." she stopped, shaking her head in amazement. "He thought that with Angel gone we might be able to 'make a go of it.' Like it was an either or sort of thing."  
  
"Men." Faith paused for a moment to consider. "Well, not Gunn, at least I hope not...and not Angel, but still...men."  
  
"After a couple of whacks upside the head I managed to convince him it was a bad idea, and then he left. For good."  
  
"You didn't?" Faith grinned and swatted her on the shoulder. "You go, girl."  
  
Buffy shook her head ruefully. "No, actually I didn't, but I really wanted to. If I hadn't pulled so many punches when we were dating...but he has no idea how strong I really am. It wouldn't have been fair."  
  
"It would have been fun, though."  
  
"That it would." Buffy grinned at Faith, glad to find some common ground at last. "I never thought I'd say this, but I'm actually sort of glad you're here."  
  
"Me too. It felt like the right thing to do, looking up Wesley and Cordy after I got out, and I guess I'm kind of realizing doing the right thing isn't all bad."  
  
Buffy's smile abruptly vanished. "Not if you make it out alive."  
  
"Hey, we'll make it," Faith said, trying to coax another smile. "Who ever survived the two of us combined?" She waited for a response, but when there was none forthcoming she became uneasy. "You do want to make it out alive, don't you?"  
  
Buffy sighed, running her hand through her hair as she tried to formulate a reply they could both believe. Her hesitation only worried Faith more.  
  
"B, talk to me. I don't want any surprises when we drop down into that hellmouth. Are you planning on booking a return ticket, or is this just a one way gig?"  
  
"If you're asking if it would be deliberate, the answer is no. I made a promise to someone that I'd stick it out as long as I'm supposed to. I can't break my word. But if you're asking would I mind...just don't ask, okay?" she pleaded with a tiny smile.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	10. Chapter 9

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Part 9  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
& PJ  
  
  
  
The weapons were packed, the spell books appropriately book-marked and goodbyes alluded to, if not actually expressed. The last line of defense between the world and its untimely end was about to depart Revello Drive, hopefully not for the last time.  
  
"Okay, last one to the hellmouth is a rotten egg." Buffy took a better grip on her leather duffel bag and smiled with all the false cheer she could muster at her mother and her sister. If she had learned anything in the last 8 years, it was the power of a positive attitude, and a ready supply of very sharp weapons.  
  
"Buffy, wait. I want to come too." Dawn grabbed Buffy's coat sleeve as her sister reached out with her free hand to open the front door.  
  
"Dawn, that's crazy. Stay here with Mom." Buffy impatiently tugged her sleeve free of the younger girl's grasp, but no sooner had she done so than Dawn grabbed her again, showing a surprising strength and tenacity.  
  
Or maybe it was just fear.  
  
"Buffy, I'm not kidding. I need to be there."  
  
"Dawn, this is not a parlor magic show," Giles said sternly. "I realize you feel we are relegating you to the sidelines, but we have no other choice. It's risky enough to be taking Xander, Willow and Tara along, given how long it has been since any of them patrolled."  
  
"And whose fault is that, huh?" Xander glanced sharply at Buffy. "I've been willing to do a little demon stomp now and again, but somebody hasn't let me play in a really long time."  
  
"You're welcome," Buffy snapped. She put her bag down with a sigh and took Dawn by the shoulders. "Dawn, you can't come. End of story. Now stay here with Mom and try to keep Anya from saying anything that will force Mom to hurt her."  
  
"Oh we're not planning anything violent," Anya said hastily. "We're going to engage in female bonding rituals. We'll bake cookies and your mother will tell me about her childbirth experiences to prepare me for my own."  
  
"Gee, that...that sounds like fun. Much better than demon hunting." Tara smiled weakly as she struggled for an upside to the plans. "It will be very...very educational, right, Willow?"  
  
Willow caught the ball and did her best to keep it moving. "Umm, yeah, educational. And fattening. Especially for Xander if Anya learns how to bake those little chocolate marshmallow cookies he likes."  
  
Anya's face was grave as she nodded her agreement. "He can eat those by the dozen when Mrs. Summers bakes them. Today she will teach me," she stroked Xander's arm, "and then when you come home you'll eat too many and feel sick and I can take care of you."  
  
She held her husband's eyes with her own, trying to project a confidence she was far from feeling. When he pulled her into his arms a moment later, the tightness of his embrace told her she hadn't fooled anyone.  
  
Dawn ignored them all and concentrated on her objective. "Buffy, I'm supposed to be there, at the hellmouth. I feel it." The desperation was clear in her voice.  
  
Joyce opened her mouth to protest, but Buffy waved at her to be silent. She wasn't sure about Dawn's 'feeling,' but her own was a very bad one. "What do you mean you're 'supposed' to be there?"  
  
Dawn shook her head impatiently. "I can't explain it, but I feel like I belong there, like there's something only I can do." She pulled away from Buffy's grasp to confront Cordelia, who stood waiting in the archway to the living room. "In your visions, did you see me at all?"  
  
Cordelia was unsure how to answer. Her visions happened rapidly, and recognition was a dicey proposition at best. Added to that was the fact that she had never actually seen Dawn until a few hours before, not that she could tell Dawn that, or even mention it in front of the clueless Scoobies...it all made for a tough question to answer.  
  
"I saw a girl," Cordelia answered hesitantly. "I couldn't see a face, or really anything about her except that she was a she, and a young she at that."  
  
"And what happened to this she?" Buffy asked sharply. "Was she killed because she convinced her brainless big sister to take her along to Armageddon as though it was just the movie? Because I'm betting she was, which is why Dawn is staying home."  
  
Faith laid a gentle hand on Buffy's shoulder. "B, if anyone should know this, it's you and me: You can't fight destiny. If little sister is supposed to be there, she'll find a way. Wouldn't you rather know she's there, than have to keep looking over your shoulder for her?"  
  
Buffy glared at her sister-in-arms and shook off her conciliatory gesture. As close to family as Faith had once been, this was none of her business. This concerned the Summers family only, real and monk-made.  
  
"I just want to know what Dawn thinks she can contribute. She's never been on patrol with me, she hasn't had to fight off a demon breaking into the house since I moved out, and even then she didn't have to do much more than scream and someone else came to do the fighting." Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and tried to feel as remote as she sounded. "What exactly does she think qualifies her to take on the hellmouth?"  
  
Dawn shook her head, her hand rising to brush away unbidden tears. "I don't know. I just know if you don't take me I'll have to follow you because you need me there. I've never felt anything like this, Buffy, honest. It's like its pulling me, except that its actually afraid of me but it knows that I..." she stammered her way into a frustrated silence. "I don't know how to explain it."  
  
"What 'it' are you talking about, Dawn?" Giles asked gently. He could feel Joyce, standing behind him, sinking her nails into his arm, but he ignored her. She knew as well as he that Dawn was no ordinary 17-year-old.  
  
"I don't know. Whatever it is, it's like a giant magnet and I'm the little metal pieces it wants to pick up. Or maybe I'm the magnet; I'm not sure."  
  
"A magnet, yes."  
  
Giles wanted to lash out at someone, at the powers that thwarted Buffy at her every turn at happiness. Having taken so much from her, they still were not content. Worse yet, they made him partner to their crimes by forcing him to see the pattern.  
  
"A magnet," he said, the words dragged from him, "or perhaps something more key."  
  
His meaning was not lost on the two elder Summers women, nor was it appreciated.  
  
"This is crazy," Joyce snapped. "She is not going."  
  
"Absolutely not," Buffy said in a moment of rare agreement. She met Giles' eyes defiantly, and was struck speechless by the pity she saw there.  
  
"You can ride with me, Dawn," he said quietly.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"This place gets creepier every apocalypse," Xander murmured as they walked the halls of the late and unlamented Sunnydale High School. "This better be the last one too, because it's really starting to wig me out."  
  
"Can we make it just the last one we have to stop?" Willow pleaded. "I kind of don't want to be around for the last last one." She gripped Tara's hand a little tighter, and tugged on Xander's sleeve to pull him against her other side.  
  
Dawn was swiveling her head back and forth, trying to absorb as many details as possible during their quick trek down the ruined hallways. "Why don't I remember this place?" she asked of no one in particular.  
  
"You never went here," Buffy answered tersely.  
  
"Yeah, and we all know spectators were discouraged at our graduation," Xander pointed out. "But I would have thought you got dragged to that truly scary exhibition Snyder called a 'talent show' sophomore year. I remember your mom being there, Buff, but...you know I don't think I remember Dawn. That's weird." He shook his head, and then glanced over his shoulder at Dawn. "How did you luck out of that one, kid?"  
  
"I don't know. I don't remember." Dawn's anxiety was clear from the rising tone of her voice. "I don't even remember seeing this place from the outside before. There's like this giant hole in my mind about this place."  
  
"Me too, but that's why I shelled out the big bucks for the high-grade shock therapy," Xander joked. He dropped back a few paces to wrap a brotherly arm around Dawn's narrow shoulders. "Don't let it bug you, Dawn. This place isn't worth remembering."  
  
Buffy glanced anxiously at Giles as Dawn subsided into uneasy silence. This memory gap represented an unusual flaw in the otherwise seamless weaving of Dawn into the Slayer's life. To Buffy, the lapse lent credence to Giles' theory that Dawn was intended to play a part in the hellmouth's final act.  
  
It was not the answer she was hoping for.  
  
"Yes, well, perhaps this isn't the best time for any of us to be wandering down Memory Lane," Giles interjected swiftly. The less Dawn or the others speculated about her missing memories, the better.  
  
Willow gestured at the burnt-out lockers and heat-scarred linoleum. "Look around you, Giles. We are literally wandering down Memory Lane."  
  
Xander winced as his foot slipped on something dark, slimy and formerly alive. "Or maybe it's just Memory Gardens. Is Mayor MacDeath ever going to finish decaying and become one with the planet?"  
  
"I think that's just something that crawled in here and died," Willow said helpfully, shining her flashlight on his upraised shoe. "It's still sort of juicy. The Mayor was more like blackened Cajun demon poppers after the big boom. Extra crispy."  
  
A moment later Willow stumbled, courtesy of a hand landing forcefully on her back. "Hey!" she cried, turning around to confront an angry Cordelia. "What's up with the hitting? No hitting allowed."  
  
"Except demons," Xander qualified.  
  
Cordelia ignored Xander and his comments in order to focus her wrath on Willow. "Could you be any ruder? I expect it from him, but not from Little Miss Mother May I."  
  
"Excuse..."  
  
"Okay, so the mayor was a genocidal lunatic with all the personal charm of Leona Helmsley PMSing." Cordelia casually dismissed the mayor's character flaws with a wave of her hand. "Faith, who happens to be walking all of three feet away from you, and coincidentally can hear things at that range, actually liked the old demon." She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes as she stared down her startled former classmate. "Way to be sensitive, Willow."  
  
Faith grinned in spite of herself and pressed her hand to her heart. "Cor, I'm touched. Honest."  
  
"But...but we always do 'laugh-in-the-face-of-horrible-death' jokes," Willow protested. "I didn't mean to hurt Faith's feelings. I wasn't even thinking."  
  
"Obviously," Cordelia drawled, tossing her head.  
  
"May we please cease this childish squabbling until after we have killed the nasty demons and saved the world?" Giles' tone was icy, a stark contrast to the fire in his eyes. "Quite honestly, when you behave like this I am hard pressed to believe that any of you have aged a day since the first time I met you."  
  
"Sorry, Dad," Xander said with mock penitence. "I guess we're all a little amped about being on patrol again. It's almost like old times."  
  
"Not quite," Giles said quietly, his anger giving way to anxiety as he glanced at Buffy.  
  
Buffy, whose silences had grown to outnumber her conversations over the years, and who now preferred the solitude of her own thoughts to the companionship of friends. Buffy, whose passion had turned into a sense of responsibility and her joy to duty fulfilled.  
  
Buffy, who had always spoken of this day as though it would be her greatest challenge...or, more chillingly, her last obstacle.  
  
Giles was ashamed to admit he wasn't sure which he should fear more: what would happen if she lost, or what she would do if she won.and then must face the rest of her life.  
  
"Giles is right; play time is over." The Slayer stopped dead in front of the dangling library doors, forcing the others behind her to halt as well. "Before we go in, I want to get the order straight. Faith and I are point, Giles, Wes and Gunn are the second wave, and Cordy and Xander are in charge of guarding the Spell Sisters, and my sister." She looked sharply at Dawn. "Do not move from Xander's side, do you hear? I don't care what 'feelings' you get; you stay with him."  
  
"I'll take care of the chit," Spike grumbled as he casually edged into the hallway from the side corridor where he had been waiting.  
  
"Spike," Buffy said flatly. "I didn't think you'd be here. How did you even find out?"  
  
"The Watcher called to tell me not to make any long-range vacation plans. Figured since you were letting the rest of the gang play this time, little Spikey might be eligible for one last round of PacDemon before the world ends."  
  
"Whatever." Buffy carefully placed her weapons bag on the ground and began to dole out armaments, saving the largest battleaxe for herself. "Spike, you're with Xander on Dawn detail. Cordy, take good care of Willow and Tara. If you get in trouble... "  
  
"Hey, I know my way around a hatchet after all these years," Cordelia interrupted her. "We'll be fine. You're the one with the rough part."  
  
"I still wish you'd let me help with the actual fight." Faith tossed the scroll she was carrying from one hand to the other. "I'm used to being the bodyguard, not Whitney Houston."  
  
"We've been over this," Buffy answered impatiently. "You've had longer to get familiar with the incantation."  
  
"Two hours in the car on the way down," Faith protested.  
  
"And I've had more training and battle experience than you, especially lately," Buffy continued, her voice firmly overriding the other slayer's objections.  
  
"So I'm guessing Xander hasn't been watching those prison flicks at your place." Faith grimaced as she stared down at the scroll. "Okay, your town, your show, but I still don't like it."  
  
"I can live with that. Now can we do this?" Without waiting for a reply, Buffy vanished into the library, Faith falling in line right behind her.  
  
Willow squeezed Tara's hand as they followed the slayers through the doorway. "Let's just hope we can get the hellmouth to take a binding spell seriously this time."  
  
"Why don't we just throw bananas in it?" Xander suggested. He held the door open for Dawn and Cordelia as he continued, "They're modest little fruits, but if you want binding they're the...okay, I'll be quiet now."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Nature had started to take over the remains of the old library in the years since the Mayor met his maker. The outer wall was crumbling, and an unusually damp summer had given life to the vines that crept over its upper limits. The rains had also left the remaining woodwork moldering in the darker corners, giving off a damp rotted smell that pervaded the room despite the air let in by the holes in the wall. The floor was littered with clods of broken plaster and pulpy books, ready and waiting to trip the unwary trespasser and hurtle them into the gaping hole in the center of the room.  
  
That hole was the only source of light in the room, pulsing with an unearthly blue-white glow that flickered across the decaying ceiling. Buffy had expected to see a demon, or several demons, immediately upon entering, but the hellmouth was eerily silent and apparently abandoned.  
  
"Hey, look, no monsters. Can we go now?" The relief in Xander's voice was palpable; however much he wanted to support Buffy, he was also deeply interested in having a future with his wife and yet-to-be born child.  
  
"This...this isn't right," Buffy answered slowly. She shot a quick glance at Cordelia. "Was your vision this quiet, Cor?"  
  
Cordelia eyed the dimly lit room speculatively. "Umm, no, there was a whole lot more screaming and bleeding going on. Of course the visions are more of a Christmas Yet-to-Be sort of thing, so maybe by just being here we're preventing the whole deal." She smiled gamely, but no one was fooled, not even Cordelia.  
  
A sudden rumble grew from the mouth of hell.  
  
"I'm thinking no." Buffy took a few steps towards the hole, gesturing for Faith to join her as she peered down into the abyss.  
  
An instant later a forest of tentacles snaked up over the edge and twined around Faith, yanking her down into the hole before Willow could finish screaming.  
  
"My turn," Buffy sighed. "Take care of Dawn."  
  
Without another word she hefted the axe in her hand and jumped down after Faith, leaving her friends stunned into silence.  
  
Silent, that is, until the tentacles came back for them.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy landed abruptly on the hard earth inside the mouth of hell, staggering slightly when she touched down. She remembered it being a much longer fall the last time, but it seemed the hellmouth was closer to the surface these days. Not exactly the best news she'd had all day, she reflected grimly in the instant before she saw Faith.  
  
The dark-haired Slayer was lying on the ground like a discarded doll, limbs twisted beneath her unmoving body. The sickly white tentacles of the alpha hellbeast hovered over her, not touching, but not permitting aid either.  
  
"Faith, are you still in there? Talk to me!"  
  
For one fleeting moment Buffy, the demon, even the hellmouth itself seemed to freeze waiting for Faith's reply.  
  
The answer, when it came, was only a groan. Still, it was sufficient to assure life, if not immediate good health, and for now that was enough for both sides to continue.  
  
As Buffy raised her axe to start hacking her way through to her friend, the tentacles began to quiver. First they turned slowly towards Buffy, almost seeming to look at her, and then in a blur of motion they shot up to the top of the hole and outward.  
  
Up and out toward the Scoobies and Dawn.  
  
There was no more time for plans or battle tactics. It was a simple case of slash and smash, striking out at any part of the demon close enough to be reached and then stepping in closer to reach still more of it. Gradually Buffy sensed Faith beginning to stir off to her side. She moved slowly in front of her injured companion, trying to shield her from the demon's "sight" and advances long enough for Faith to join the fight.  
  
"I'm on it, B," she heard Faith call at last, and a moment later a knife whistled through the air past her ear and planted itself in one of the tentacles. Buffy breathed the tiniest sigh of relief, and started planning again.  
  
They needed to do the incantation; it was the only way to permanently defeat the beast, and the others creeping up from behind it. But it now looked like it would take both of them fighting full bore to contain the demons, and even that might not be enough.  
  
Meanwhile, the demon was also striking out at those she loved on the floor above, and Buffy was powerless to stop it.  
  
* * * * *  
  
On the first floor of the room once known as the Sunnydale High library, another battle was being waged, with about as much success.  
  
Giles, Gunn and Wesley were closest to the "body" of the largest beast, hacking away at any of the flailing white limbs that came near. If they couldn't kill the demon, their job was to try and beat a clear path to its source so that Buffy and Faith would have an escape route. Tara and Willow had abandoned their protection spells and joined Cordelia in the fight to keep the tentacles of the same great white beast from advancing beyond the library walls. Spike and Xander were trying to keep Dawn behind them as they waged their own battle with a smaller, yet equally deadly demon that had crept out of the hellmouth using the tentacled demon as a rope ladder.  
  
From the ferocity and strength the demons displayed in relatively open terrain, every warrior for good knew that the Slayers did not stand much chance in the small and contained area below. They would need back up in the hole itself, but getting there was the problem. The slimy white demon took up most of the opening, and he didn't seem to want to move.  
  
As the chaos raged around her, Dawn slowly slipped away from her protectors. There was a force guiding her, pulling her towards the mouth even as the tentacled demon reached out for her. She dimly heard Spike shout, and then Xander, but she ignored their entreaties. She followed the path created by rising walls of undulating tentacles, trusting the higher power she felt calling to her to provide her safe passage.  
  
And then it would be her turn to guarantee the same to a no-less deserving soul in need of guidance.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy staggered back a pace, breathing harshly through strained lungs as she fell against the wall. She could scarcely stand any more; the demons raged at them from all sides and she had to bear the brunt of their attacks, now that Faith was trying to invoke the closure spell. She alone must hold back the demons long enough for Faith to finish, or they would both die trying.  
  
But it was so hard, and it hurt, worse than any physical pain she'd ever known. She no longer kept tally on what was broken or merely sprained; she was fairly sure all were breaks now. Her hands fought to hold the wooden handle of the axe, made slippery by her own blood, and her feet demanded purchase on a ground drenched in more of the same.  
  
This, then, was the battle she had been saved for. This was the battle Angel, among others, had died to ensure she would be here to win. To honor the memories of all those who had fallen, she could do no less.  
  
And yet she was so very tired.  
  
Her ears had grown accustomed to the screaming, both from her friends above and the demons below. It all blended together now, just the familiar cacophony of a world being torn apart by the forces of darkness.  
  
Darkness. The word drifted through her numbed and battle-scarred brain. What a wonderful, peaceful idea.  
  
She was jolted from her lapse into near-unconsciousness by the sound of a name ripped from Faith's lips.  
  
"Dawn! Get out!"  
  
Dawn. Dawn was here, in the mouth of hell. In the one place Giles tried to tell Buffy that her sister belonged.  
  
Buffy fought back the darkness that fogged her brain, and the weakness that dragged at her limbs. Dawn must be removed, immediately, before the hellmouth recognized its danger; or the world its salvation. Buffy had sacrificed one too many in the name of world salvation.  
  
It ended here.  
  
Faith abandoned the incantation and began to fight again, trying to protect Dawn from the myriad of demons. As the dark-haired Slayer battled, the younger girl calmly crossed behind her to retrieve the discarded scroll, smiling faintly at her sister as she passed.  
  
A moment later, Dawn started reading the incantation and the mouth of hell began to turn in upon itself.  
  
Buffy struggled to stand erect without the wall's support. Her shaking arms raised the battleaxe to defend her family, even if it meant letting the world stand on its own. A white tentacle reached out for Dawn and Buffy threw all her remaining strength into her swing, falling heavily at her sister's feet on the downward stroke.  
  
She couldn't rise again. She tried to focus her energies, tried to draw on every ounce of willpower at her command, tried to use every technique Giles or Angel had ever taught her to find her inner reserves.  
  
But it was all gone.  
  
In desperation, she called out to Angel, willing him to come to her, even though she knew he promised only to come at her last moment. She would gladly let this be the moment if he could just lend her a trace of the strength she had always found in his soul.  
  
Dawn's voice rose over the sound of the humans screaming in the library above. It rose over Faith's outcry as she knelt over the fallen Buffy. It rose over the howl of the demons as one by one they started to wither and fall back into the hellmouth. It rose over the cry of the hellmouth itself, as it recognized its other half. Light to its dark, wellspring to its abyss, yin to its yang.  
  
For it was the door to hell itself, and Dawn was The Key.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"But she's calling for me!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Just let me go to her for a minute. It won't change the outcome, I swear," Angel said desperately. "I can't just sit and watch this."  
  
"Soon," the Being promised.  
  
"She needs me," he insisted.  
  
"She needs to say goodbye," was his answer, delivered in a tone that left no room for arguments.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Buffy, can you hear me? Everything is okay now. But I think it's time to go."  
  
She heard the voice dimly, as though it was fighting to get through layers of wool or heavy cotton batting to penetrate her eardrums. The screaming had stopped, she knew that; so why was it so hard to hear Dawn?  
  
"Dawn," she mumbled, trying to force her eyes open. "You sound so strange. Are you okay?"  
  
Buffy heard Faith sob as she spoke; Faith, who never cried from pain or fear.  
  
"I'm fine, Buffy," Dawn quickly reassured her. A warm arm wrapped around Buffy's shoulders, pulling her in for a brief embrace. "Thanks to you. Everyone is all right, thanks to you."  
  
"The others? Not hurt?" She struggled to get up to see for herself, but Dawn's arms held her captive.  
  
"They will take care of each other. Your job is done, Buffy; you can rest now."  
  
"Rest?" Buffy breathed the word with disbelief. Rest was not for slayers; it was for them to guard while others enjoyed it.  
  
"Rest," Dawn repeated gently. "You've done what you were called to do, and now it's time to go home; both of us."  
  
"No!" Faith's protest came swiftly; drawn from some ancient primal instinct that Dawn's concept of 'home' no longer included four walls and a mailbox. She reached down and pulled the weakened Buffy from Dawn's treacherous grasp. "She's not going anywhere. You do what you have to do, but she's not going with you."  
  
Buffy struggled to open her eyes, succeeding in time to see Dawn shake her head.  
  
"No, she's not going with me. She has her own journey to finish, now that she's led me to the end of mine."  
  
"It's not fair," Buffy whispered. "You shouldn't have to end up down here all alone, holding the world together."  
  
A brief inner battle was waged within the Slayer's heart. More than anything she wanted to take her promised reward and finally be as one with the man she loved; but family came with its own sacred duties, and there are many kinds of love.  
  
"I'll stay with you, Dawnie." In her heart, she would always be with Angel.  
  
Dawn smiled sweetly at the childhood nickname; a smile more mature, and yet more remote than Buffy could ever remember seeing on her sister's face. It matched the faraway tone in her voice.  
  
"No, Buffy. You've fulfilled your destiny, and you've been released. Now it's my turn; I can feel it." She raised her head and glanced around the crumbling earthen walls of the slowly shrinking hellmouth. "I've been waiting a long time for this. This is the missing half of me, the part I tried to deny but could never be whole without." She returned her attention to Buffy. "You wouldn't want to keep me away from that, would you? You, of all people?"  
  
"I'll miss you." Buffy could hear herself choking on blood as she spoke, but she couldn't feel the pain anymore. The wool that had covered her ears was winding around her body now, wrapping her up safe and warm within its confines.  
  
"No you won't," Dawn promised. "You'll be too happy finally being with Angel to even notice who's not there. And I'll be happy for you."  
  
"B, you have to fight this. You still have people who need you." Faith shook her, little caring if she caused her injured friend pain in her desperation to be understood. "Your mom needs you, and Giles, and all the rest of the gang. And me, I need you. I'm just starting to figure out the angles on this being good deal, but I need the pro to walk me through it."  
  
Buffy could hear Faith talking, but the words floated over her in a blur of meaningless sounds and pauses. She was focused on Dawn's promise, and clinging to it with every ounce of strength she had left.  
  
"He'll be waiting for me?"  
  
"He's been waiting for centuries, since the day he was born. Now it's time for you to bring him home." As Dawn spoke, her fingertips began to glow with a strange silvery light. It spread up her arms and then down the length of her torso, creeping outward to every extremity. "This is your turn, Buffy, yours and Angel's. I know it's not exactly what you hoped for, but eternity isn't such a bad deal either."  
  
The silvery glow had completely overtaken Dawn now, blurring her human form and features until they were just a wavering memory of shape and substance. She rose to her feet, or what had been her feet, and slowly backed away from Buffy.  
  
"I can't...can't believe I didn't see this." Buffy fought for the breath to release her final words. She owed Dawn an apology, and she was running out of time. "All this time I thought...I had to protect you from the hellmouth...and it was your destiny."  
  
"Sounds like the rest of the world about you and Angel," Dawn reminded her gently. "But now you're sending me on my way and I'm sending you on yours. What I want to know is: does that make me Glinda...or the ruby slippers?"  
  
Buffy choked on the laughter that welled up within her, past the blood and the tears and the memories. "Always knew you read my diary."  
  
She was sure there was an answering smile lurking beneath the flickering silver light, but the Slayer could no longer see well enough to penetrate the glow. She still heard Faith's voice calling to her, and then she heard the others shouting from the floor above. The only words that made any sense were Dawn's.  
  
"Be happy, Buffy."  
  
Dawn gradually dispersed into individual twinkles of light. As Buffy felt her body being raised to the library above, she could see the silvery sparks coalesce into a fine mist over the opening of the hellmouth, healing it and sealing it until nothing remained but a smooth earthen surface.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Buffy was laid flat on the library floor while friends dear as family hovered over her. She could dimly feel hands stroking her forehead while others gently probed her wounds. Voices tugged at her from every direction, all of them trying to tie her to the leaden, broken vessel they believed to be the real Buffy.  
  
"Buffy, please hang on," Willow whispered in her ear. "Gunn is calling 911; you just have to hang in until the paramedics get here." The witch squeezed her hand, and a moment later Buffy could feel Tara covering both of their hands with her own, lending her spirit as well. "You can do that, right? You're strong."  
  
"Nobody stronger," Xander added stoutly. "Will's right; you can't leave, Buff. You haven't had a chance to laugh at my kid's pointed head yet, and you just know you want to see Anya's face when she realizes what's actually in a dirty diaper." His warm tears splashed on her cheek, tracing a clear path through the hellmouth residue on her skin. "Too much happening to take off now."  
  
She felt a hand at the back of her head, lifting her slightly to make room for a folded coat used as a makeshift pillow. "You can't leave us, Buffy. I know you like to do things your own way, but children are not supposed to die before their parents."  
  
Giles spoke calmly, almost conversationally, but even through the fog in her brain Buffy could hear the underlying bewilderment in his voice; he had never truly believed this day would come. His hand repeatedly smoothed her forehead as he spoke, as though he was trying to hypnotize her into following his instructions. "You can't do this to me, Buffy. It's just not right."  
  
"Stop with the soft sell, Giles; just say no." A hand seized Buffy's shoulder. "You listen to me, Buffy Summers. I know why you're doing this and I won't let you. You can't go chasing after him; a girl needs to play hard to get." Cordelia's voice broke on her last word, and any further pep talks were muffled by Wesley's shoulder and the soothing nonsense words he was murmuring into her hair.  
  
Buffy could hear Gunn on the cell phone, his voice growing louder every frustrating second that it took to explain the situation. Spike was voluble in his mingled curses and prayers as he vented all his unwanted, and unrequited, emotions on the mound of earth that covered the hellmouth.  
  
Faith had been silent since they were raised from the hellmouth; Buffy wasn't even sure if the other slayer was still in the room until she felt a strong hand gripping her chill fingers, and cool lips brushing across her sweaty brow. "Godspeed, B," her old friend said steadily. "When you see him, you plant a big wet one on him for me, okay?"  
  
Buffy wanted to say goodbye, give them her love, tell them not to worry. But then she felt the shiver.  
  
Except it was more than a shiver now. It was a warm tingling that spread over and through her, lighting up both body and soul from within. It was warmth and family; it was love and security and peace, all wrapped up in one tall, dark and now blessedly brood-free package waiting for her on the edges of this reality.  
  
Angel had come for her at last, and now they could both go home.  
  
* * * * *  
  
To Be Continued 


	11. Epilogue

The Ruby Slippers  
  
Epilogue:  
  
Kansas  
  
  
  
By Gem  
  
&  
  
PJ  
  
  
  
Angel slowly crossed the library; his eyes fixed on Buffy, the real Buffy. He spared a brief moment to pay respect to the broken shell that had once sheltered her, and then focused his attention on the true essence of his love as she appeared before him.  
  
She looked so impossibly young and carefree to him; as young as the first time he had seen her. The shadows he had seen gradually overtake her hazel eyes, so many of them shadows he had put there himself, were gone now. She was almost glowing as she moved gracefully away from the cluster of loved ones surrounding her body. He drank in the sight, the sense of her, and felt the last vestige of his mortal pain slip away in the light of her presence.  
  
"I've missed you so much," he whispered as he held out his arms to her.  
  
Buffy stepped into his embrace, returning it with a passion that matched his own. They clung fiercely to each other as she burrowed her head into his chest, rubbing her cheek against his shirt to brush away her tears.  
  
"Missed you more. God, I have been so lonely without you." Her voice wavered, sliding the scales from utter relief at finally being with him again, to bitter regret in remembrance of the long nights spent apart.  
  
"No more," he promised her swiftly. "You won't be out of my sight long enough to miss me ever again."  
  
"Have I ever been?" She tilted her head back and smiled at him. "I always kind of believed you were still out there, even if I couldn't feel you or see you."  
  
"That's me, Stealthy Stalker Guy."  
  
He ran his hand over her shining hair, marveling at the warmth and silken texture he could once again truly feel. Whatever form of energy they were now considered, her death had restored their reality and solidity to each other. He would have been blissfully content just to spend eternity in her presence, but it appeared there was more the Powers had to offer them.  
  
"You look so surprised," she said, gently laughing at him as she blinked away the last of her tears. "Didn't you know I was coming?"  
  
"Not when. Not so soon." Involuntarily his eyes drifted back to the Buffy that was; the one surrounded by grieving friends in the ruins of a burnt- out building.  
  
"It seemed like forever to me." She too glanced back at the impromptu wake, but her attention was caught by her friends, not the mortal framework she had left behind. "I'm sorry for them, and for my poor mom, but not for me, Angel. I did what I was supposed to do, and I'm glad...but I'm also glad it's over."  
  
Angel placed his fingertips beneath her ear and ran it down the curve of her cheek, gently turning her head back to face him while he made his confession.  
  
"Buffy, I...I heard you when you called for me, but they wouldn't let me come. I wanted to be with you...but they said you needed to say goodbye on your own." He let his hand fall away from her face as he waited for her response; he could only hope she would believe how much it had hurt him to leave her alone at the end.  
  
"As much as I hate to give the PTBs credit for being right about anything, I think they were this time," Buffy admitted. "I needed to make my peace with leaving my friends and my family behind, especially Dawn." She raised her hand to caress his cheek. "That wasn't something you could do for me, even if it hurt to do it by myself."  
  
"I just wish...you should have had more time, sweetheart." He closed his eyes to block out the images of all that she had been denied. He had forsaken the life they could have lived together to provide her with time that was then snatched away in an instant. "You missed out on so much."  
  
She stubbornly shook her head. "No. The only things I missed were things I wanted to share with you; I don't care about the rest. All I see of my future is you; remember? So if I can spend the rest of time just sitting next to you," she reached down and clasped his hand in hers, bringing it up to press against her heart, "holding your hand, I will be a very happy Slayer-that-was."  
  
When he opened his eyes he could see the truth shining from deep within her. Whatever regrets she might have had in life, they were gone now. All that remained was joy: both hers and his own reflecting back at him from her eyes.  
  
"Just holding hands?" he teased, gently brushing the thumb of his captive hand back and forth across her breastbone.  
  
"Well..." a faint blush stained her cheeks, "maybe a little more than that would be nice."  
  
"Then you are going to be over the moon with all the things I have planned for you." He leaned down and brushed the tip of his nose against hers, grinning so widely he felt sure his mortal skin would have split.  
  
She caught her breath at his smile and reached up to trace it with reverent fingers. "Could you do that a few billion more times, please," she asked softly. "Because I think that's how many it's going to take before I get tired of seeing that smile."  
  
He caught her fingers in his hand and brushed them against his cheek, turning his head to kiss the tips. "You're going to have to put up with it a lot more than that, I'm afraid. Now that you're here, it's never going away."  
  
"Speaking of here," Buffy glanced anxiously back over her shoulder at her old life, "can we not be? Here, that is. It's kind of creepy watching my own body.and I feel so bad for my friends because I can't help them with this." Her forehead wrinkled thoughtfully as she reached deeper within herself. "Actually it's more like I want to feel so bad...but the best I can do is kind of bad, and that's really bad, isn't it?" She returned her eyes to Angel, suddenly puzzled.  
  
"You're not supposed to feel real sadness here, or pain," he explained. "When we were apart I could feel them, because it was like the other half of me was missing. But usually it's almost...well, it's almost like feeling echoes of those emotions." He smiled wistfully at her. "I wish I could make them go away entirely for you, but the idea is that you can't really appreciate the good unless you remember at least part of the bad."  
  
"Then we were almost appreciated to death." There was a slight edge to her tone as she continued. "Actually, I think we were, when you get right down to it."  
  
"But not anymore," he reminded her, his fingers now tracing the pattern of her lips in turn. "It's all ancient history now, like something out of a book or a movie. The darkness can't hurt us anymore, not the real us."  
  
He couldn't stop touching her; his soul, too long bereft, searched for reassurance in the line of her throat, the curve of her back. He couldn't believe she was in his arms at last.  
  
"I wish I could keep it from hurting them," she said, her thoughts shifting to once more encompass those left behind. "As much as I bitched about the hours, and the lack of pay, and the lack of, well, I got used to being Defender of the Universe."  
  
"I know. Believe me, I know how hard it is to step back and just let things happen." He shook his head. "But sooner or later, no matter how much you love them, you have to let people face up to the darkness themselves and find out what they're made of. These are good people, Buffy, and I know they're strong enough to fight it." Angel's hand slid down her back to join the other clasped around her waist, holding tightly to that which had been so long denied him. "You and I, on the other hand, have already faced our last battles."  
  
"And I guess we've earned a little peace," she admitted, "especially those of us who've been doing the 'high-guilt, low self-esteem' diet plan for the past century or so."  
  
He smiled ruefully as her gentle reproof hit home. "Someday we'll all be together again, but until then I think we need to trust them to take care of each other, so we can concentrate on each other. It's been too long..." he cocked his head to the side and paused to reflect. "No, make that 'never' since we could think only of each other. We need this time."  
  
Buffy could see the echoes he had mentioned flitting through his dark eyes, and felt them travel though her soul as well. Grief, loneliness, despair, need, all had been endured on both sides before fate had brought them to this moment. But in this moment, and for all future moments, they were together; and in the end all that mattered...was the end.  
  
"No arguments here, honey...other than about 'here' being here. So where can we go to start this all-by-ourselves time?"  
  
Her quick smile was a combination of childlike mischievousness and adult desire that her lover found intoxicating, and utterly irresistible. He wanted to be Superman for her, to fulfill every expectation he had ever seen shine from her eyes. He wanted to give her the world, and then have the joy of watching her grace it with her presence.  
  
But more than anything, he just wanted to be hers, and she his. All the old definitions of duty and self, the ones that had separated them for so long, had at last fallen away. All that was left was two lovers, on the edge of forever.  
  
"Where do you want to go? Take your pick; we can go anywhere we can imagine." Angel gestured at illusory splendors. "Anywhere you've wanted to go, but thought you never could. Any world you can create in your mind. We can even find a nice black hole to hide in for the next few hundred years, just you and me and no distractions." He brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead, smiling when she shivered at his touch. "We can do whatever we want," he drawled softly in her ear.  
  
Buffy turned her head to nuzzle his neck, reaching up to trace the hairs that grew down to his collar. "Whatever we want?" she murmured huskily. "That sounds pretty radical to me, lover, but I think I could get used to it."  
  
He laughed softly; her fingers were tickling his neck almost as much as the teasing caress of her lips. "So what will it be? A café in Paris, a gondola in Venice, a beach in Tahiti..."  
  
"Mmm, I don't care," she sighed as she moved her attentions to the hollow of his throat. "You've been doing this longer; you pick for the first hundred years or so. Then it will be my turn." With one final, lingering kiss, she tucked her head into his shoulder and waited for her first new world. Suddenly, his words came back to her in full and she anxiously looked up at him. "No black holes, though. You've been in the shadows too long."  
  
"We both have."  
  
With a sigh of contentment, she closed her eyes and laid her cheek upon his chest again, wrapping her arms firmly around him. She could let go of friends and family; she knew they would take care of each other, and she trusted Angel's word that she would see them again someday. She could let go of her responsibilities, and trust some larger plan to keep the world in motion without her help. She could, and would, let go of the darkness that had haunted them for so long.  
  
But letting go of Angel was a 'never again' proposition.  
  
For a moment everything was still, and then she felt a brief sensation of dizziness as the world fell away at her feet. Suddenly a warm breeze caressed her cheek, almost as tenderly as Angel's fingertips combing through her hair. Not quite sure what to expect, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to take a look around.  
  
They were standing on a tiny beach ringed by a rocky coastline. The sand felt warm beneath her now bare feet and she could smell sea salt in the air. In the distance, the sun was slowly rising over impossibly green hills, casting a rosy glow on the white-tipped waves before them.  
  
"Angel, this is beautiful," she breathed. "Where are we?"  
  
A moment later she lost all consciousness of her surroundings when she saw Angel in the half-light of dawn. The misty sunlight was shining on his face for the first time she could remember seeing, and she was almost undone by the spectacle.  
  
"Galway Bay," he answered with a modest pride. "This is where I grew up, or pretty close to it."  
  
He too was drinking in the marvel of daylight creeping across beloved features, but he forced himself to focus, needing her to understand his choice.  
  
"When I was a child, I used to sneak down to this cove at dawn, every day I could get away. I'd watch the sun slip over the hills like it was being lured into the waves, and I'd think about all the far away places it had been before it came here. And I'd wonder about the people I would meet in those places someday, when I finally left home." Angel smiled down at her and caught a strand of blonde hair with the tips of his fingers as it blew across her cheek. "I never dared to imagine you, though."  
  
She blushed slightly, basking in the light of his tender smile. "I guess I would have been hard to see anyway. I was facing the wrong ocean."  
  
"Plus, there's that whole wrong century part," he acknowledged with a mock sigh. He tore his eyes away from her face long enough to glance around the quiet beach. "You know, I haven't been back to Ireland since the 1700s, and I don't even know if this place exists anymore, but I wanted to show it to you the way I remember it. The city itself didn't touch me, but this place...this is where I felt I belonged; it was home. I guess that's why I associated it with being with you."  
  
"Home," she echoed. "No place like it, is there?" She stood on her toes, sliding her hand around the back of his neck to pull his head down for a kiss. "In fact, on the subject of you and home, I have kind of a funny story to..." their lips met.  
  
"...tell you later," her inner voice continued, tapering off to a blissful sigh.  
  
As hearts met hearts' desire, Angel felt an emotion so foreign he almost couldn't call it by name. In two and a half centuries he had experienced many things, but only once before had he known a moment of such pure and perfect...happiness. This was the place his soul had so long sought, never truly believing it attainable for one such as him. But finally the journey was at an end; the unworthy sinner was forgiven, and the unlikely hero rewarded.  
  
Here, at long last, was paradise.  
  
He wasn't aware of speaking the thought aloud, or perhaps he no longer needed to. However Buffy heard his musings, they seemed to be a source of quiet amusement for her. She broke their kiss for just an instant, only long enough to utter a phrase he found as puzzling as the laughter in her voice.  
  
"Not paradise, Angel; but Kansas welcomes you."  
  
* * * * *  
  
The End 


End file.
